


Rebel With a Cause

by GothamPeasant



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Punk, Everyone is a main character, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mute Bucky, Not Canon Compliant, PUNK BUCKY, Punk Steve, Recovery, Slow Burn, implied PTSD, with exceptions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23196169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothamPeasant/pseuds/GothamPeasant
Summary: The thing that really irks Bucky Barnes,  the thing that really grates on his nerves, is that Bucky is nearly positive Steve Rogers has no idea just how punk he is.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 18
Kudos: 67





	1. The First Time

So there’s this kid and, well, Steve hates this kid. He’s all band t-shirts, with his custom leather jacket and tight jeans, and always there’s a cigarette in his hands.

James Motherfucking Barnes.

Rebel without a cause.

Seriously, this kid acts like he's punk, looks like he's punk, kicks the shit out of people like he's punk, and for what? Who knows? Steve sure as hell didn’t know. The kid never spoke. Never said a goddamn word.

Steve would walk the hallways of his Brooklyn school and see Barnes standing in the corner somewhere, headphones in his ears and not a fuck given. At least until some kid got to close, then it was all glares and posturing. Those poor kids would nearly piss themselves trying to get away.

Poor kids.

But not Steve. Oh no. Steve hated that punk, and today that punk just so happen to be standing in the corner where Steve’s locker was. So Steve walked his skinny self to his locker confident as hell with his head up, shoulders back, and not a fuck given himself. Well, on the outside at least. Inside his stomach turned into a knot, anxiety clogging up his throat and making him want to pull out his inhaler. But Barnes didn’t need to know that.

Steve wasn’t sure what Barnes was going to do when Steve got to close, and he couldn’t afford a visit to the hospital for a broken nose… again. Maybe he could convince Clarice to work on his face from home. Heck, Steve should probably know how to set his own nose by now. Sure would save on doctors bills and pesky questions.

Steve smelled cigarette smoke as he neared his locker and watched as Barnes brought a cigarette up to his lips and took a long slow drag. What an ass! Steve had no idea how he got away with it either. This was school for gods sake! (Not to say the lords name in vain or anything. Steve sent a quick apology up to his mom.)

Barnes’ eyes narrowed at him as he watch Steve stalk closer. Today they were lined by thick lines of black. His long hair barely showed a hit of purple where it was shaved underneath. The top grown out longer and lined his face right at his cheek bones making then stand out sharply.

Wow, okay, so Steve got why those poor kids were scared of him. But he wasn’t going to scare Steve. No fashion punk who though he was ‘different’ was going to scare Steve from getting his Calculus book. Midterms were next week and he was going to ace that thing if it killed him. Honestly, it probably will, but that’s a problem for another time.

Steve pulled out his Calculus and AP Lit book from his locker and placed it in his backpack, zipped it and swung it around to fit snugly on his back. Then, he pulled three extra pens out and placed them in his pocket. For some reason, he always looses every pen he grabs. It’s infuriating.

Last, he grabbed his extra inhaler and shut his locker door. He turned to Barnes once again, and glared with all the anger he could muster. Maybe the way Steve’s cheek bones stand out will make him look just as menacing as the punk kid in front of him, instead of sick for once. He brought his inhaler to his month and took a deep breath as he pressed down. The sharp bitter taste in the back of his tongue did nothing to curve his anger.

“Maybe next time you should be more careful where you smoke.” Steve challenged.

Barnes’ eyes widened slightly.

‘That’s right, punk, you’re not the king around here.’ Steve thought.

Barnes brought the cigarette up, showing it like a prize to Steve before pushing the lit end into the locker, putting it out. He shoved his other hand through his hair, pushed it out of his face and revealed a smirk.

“Sorry ‘bout that, punk. Didn’t know.” Barnes inclined his head towards him.

Steve blinked.

That…wasn’t want he expected to happen. And Bucky’s voice, was, well not what he imagined either. It was rough from disuse, which Steve did imagine, but what threw him off was the very strong note of kindness.

  
“Just be more careful next time.” Steve barely got out. He was still too stunned to know what he should do. All his anger had left, and he felt slightly lost.

“Will do. See you around.”

* * *

So there’s this kid, Steve Rogers, and Bucky hated this kid.

The thing that really irks him about this kid, the thing that really grates on his nerves, is that Bucky is nearly positive this kid has no idea just how punk he is.

He sure as hell doesn’t dress like one. Actually has this geek chic thing going on.

He sure as hell doesn’t act like one. He’s always on time for class, always going above and beyond, buying lunch for the poorer kids, and hell, Bucky even saw this guy help a little old lady across the street. The fuck even does that in real life? This isn’t some life time movie.

But man, here’s the thing. The thing that makes all that other stuff fade into the background. This kid, Steve Rogers- He fights like a punk. Bucky has seen this kid get into more fights then he cares to count. And always Steve fucking Rogers never, ever backs down.

Boom! This kid gets knocked to the ground, obvious broken nose. One hit and he’s down. Bucky would have bet money he wasn’t getting up again either. But nah, this kid loves proving him wrong.

Bam! Another hit. The kid comes right back up spitting blood and laughing!

Boom! Down again and right up again he goes.

Another hit, and down he goes again before getting right back up again. A feral little thing. Blood dripping down his jaw and eyes on fire. Fuck Bucky had never seen anything like it!

This would have went on forever if the guy beating the shit out of him hadn’t been so freaked out. It was obvious the only way he was going win this fight was if he did serious damage to Steve, and he wasn’t stupid.

  
So the guy beating the shit out of Steve raised his hands and walked away. The whole time Steve was yelling at the guy, calling him a loser and a chicken, with blood dripping down his face and seeping into his shirt. What a fucking punk.

Jesus, what a- DAMN what a-

What a fucking moron. What the hell did this kid have to prove, anyway?

And what a lucky day this was for Bucky, because today was the day he decided to stand next to this kid’s locker. All five foot two inches of this little dude walked up, glare in his eyes and scowl on his lip.

  
Well shit, Bucky wasn’t looking for a fight. Especially a fight he couldn’t win. So he glared at the kid, daring him to make the move. He just wanted his peace. This is a public fucking place, and he can stand here if he damn well pleased. But it didn’t matter, the kid just ignored him and shoved too large books into his backpack. It’s a wonder the kid didn’t break in half.

‘Here it comes.’ Bucky thought was he watched the little twerp turn to glare him down. Bucky wondered if he walked away if the kid would chase him down. The kid seemed to live for fights.

Instead he watched as Steve brought an inhaler to his lips and holy shit the kid had breathing problems. Goddamn, this kid was unbelievable.

He was pretty sure he saw this kid help some new person on the block move in, in the freezing winter air, right after getting the shit beat out of him. He was also pretty sure this kid was the one to bump into him running down the street like the hounds of hell were after him last week.

“Maybe next time you should be more careful where you smoke that thing.” The kid growled- An almost literal growl.

Un-fucking-believable.

Bucky lifted the cigarette and put it out along the side of the locker.

“Sorry ‘bout that, punk. Didn’t know.” Bucky wasn’t a fucking monster. The kid had breathing problems. Unnatural ability to withstand a beating or not, he wasn’t going to make the kid suffer.

“Just be more careful next time.” Steve said, and he sounded tired. Like it was a fight he’d had a million times over and he wasn’t sure if this was the last time or not. Bucky didn’t know what to do with that. So instead he just nodded and made his break to get the hell out of dodge.

“Will do. See you around.”

And then Bucky Barnes, walked right out the school doors, into the middle of the field and screamed. and screamed. and screamed.

Did he just...

No.

Did he just talk? Did he just, for the first time in years, without a single thought, speak actual words?

And Jesus fucking Christ did he just say them to Steve fucking Rogers.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.


	2. Bucky Barnes

There were plenty of seats in the cafeteria. It was a large school, with a larger cafeteria. Not only that, but there was plenty of extra space because the band geeks, art freaks, and theater buffs are never in the cafeteria anyway. They’d always be in their respected parts of the school, doing…well whatever is they did.

So there were plenty of extra seats in the nice warm cafeteria. Bucky knew this, but he sure as hell didn’t care. The noise is deafening, the faces are grating, and the overwhelming smell of bad food make him want to puke. So instead Bucky Barnes went to the football field and sat on the bleachers eating his home made sandwich. It was peaceful, and Bucky liked it that way.

So yeah, there were plenty of extra seats in the cafeteria. Bucky knew that, he just didn’t give a shit. The thing was, he wasn’t sure Saint Steve was aware of the fact that he could sit in a perfectly warm building because right across from him, on the opposite side, sat the little Steve Rogers huddled into himself for warmth and drawing with a shaking hand.

Pathetic. It couldn’t have been warmer than 30 degrees outside.

Bucky wasn’t sure that Steve ever noticed him. He should, they both sat out there every day. Bucky would watch the punk sit his skinny ass down and start drawing every day; never a single food item in his hand. Which was just stupid because Bucky had never seen anyone skinnier than this kid in his life. But no, every day Steve Rogers gave his lunch money to some poor kid who obviously didn’t have anything to eat and come outside to starve and freeze to death.

Most of the time Bucky just did his own thing but today he just couldn’t think straight. Steve’s face was the last face on the planet he wanted to see right now and yet here Bucky sat of the other side of the field, hidden in the corner of the bleachers trying to figure out what was so damn special about some punk kid. Because yesterday Steve had stared up at him with fire in his eyes, and without a second thought Bucky had said what came to mind.

How exactly was he suppose to feel about that? Because he had rushed home, forgetting about the rest of the day and the classes he was suppose to attend. His chest tight, his throat feeling like it was on fire, his stomach threatening to escape through is mouth, and he curled up in the center of his Ma’s bed and cried all the while very carefully not thinking.

Later when his Ma found him, apparently coming home early in a panic after getting a call from the school saying he wasn’t in attendance, she very carefully gathered him in her arms and just let him cry. This was not a new routine for them.

The circumstances though were very new. He had talked! He had done the very thing he spent years of therapy attempting to do. He opened his mouth to let his mother know the good fucking news, and that’s what it was despite how fucked up Bucky felt about it. But the moment his mouth opened, the same feeling of panic buried the words so deep in his throat the contents of stomach finally found their way all the way up and Bucky barely made it to the bathroom in time before he started puking.

So yeah. Steve Rogers was the very last person Bucky wanted to see.

And yet, here he sat, staring at the skinny fuck from across the field and feeling like the opposite end of magnet that refused to be ignored.

Bucky sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before shoving himself up.

Goddamn fucking kid ruined his peaceful lunch. Now he had to walk down the bleachers, across a fucking field and right back up some blenches. And low and behold, the kid didn’t look up once. Maybe he was dead.

Bucky wondered briefly if his new found ability to talk was still going to work. Like a superpower that needed a certain ingredient to work. As he opened his mouth he made an effort to not think about it, and just go with whatever plan the world had for him. Panic, memories, and years of therapy be damned.

“Hey, Punk!” Bucky said right as he sat his ass back down next to the kid. If he had to disrupt his perfectly fine routine to come make sure this kid was okay, he was at least going to relax.

“Gah!” Steve gasped, hurriedly clutching his sketch pad to his chest.

“What, you got drawing some hot and heavy steamy stuff there? I wanna see.” Bucky teased peering over to try to look at the sketch. If Bucky didn’t know any better he would say this kids blush was just about the cutest thing he had ever seen. But well, he did know better so he buried that thought hard and fast in the far corner of his mind he would never look again.

“What? No. You surprised me is all!” Steve huffed. “What do you want?”

“Whoa there kid. No need to get your panties in a bunch. I have an extra sandwich I brought. Stupid of me, I never eat more than one. But any way, I saw you over here and thought, eh, if there’s something that deserves it more than the trash it’s the shivering punk kid across the way.”

“I don’t need your charity.”

Wasn’t that just fucking adorable. The kid who gave away charity like there was no tomorrow refusing a little himself.

Disgusting. Bucky wanted to puke.

“Who the hell said anything ‘bout charity? It’s either I throw this sandwich away or you eat it. I don’t really give two shits either way.” With that Bucky threw the sandwich in the kids lap and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. This kid was starting to grate on his nerves. Thinking he was all high and mighty and that Bucky actually cared. Bucky sure as hell didn’t care.

Instead of thinking about any of that pulled out his lighter. As soon as he took his first puff he remember the damn kid had a breathing problem.

“Fuck.” Bucky cursed has he threw the cigarette on the ground and smashed it with his boot. That’s just great. Fucking fantastic. Now he’s irritated and without a cigarette. “Sorry kid, forgot.”

“I-it’s okay.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever kid. Just eat the damn sandwich so we can go inside.”

Steve stared at him for a long moment before unwrapping the sandwich and eating it like his life depended on it. Shit, didn’t the kid ever eat?

“So how come you don’t hang with the art types during lunch? It's obvious you draw. They not good enough for you or something?” Bucky asked.

“Huh? The art club? Oh no, they’re all really great artists. I just, uh, I don’t know. We’re not that great as friends I guess. They all seem to be or have a brother or boyfriend I’ve pissed off at some point.” The blush on Steve’s cheeks seems to reach his ears and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold or not. Bucky laughed. That sounded about right.

There was silence for a long drawn out moment. Buck wasn’t sure what he was suppose to say. To do really. It had been a long time since he was able to sit with someone and just not think about it. But then the moment turned awkward and Bucky was just about to say fuck it and walk away until he notice a small electronic in Steve’s ear.

“Hey kid, what’s that?” He asked pointing. Right before Steve answered, Bucky’s brain caught up to his mouth and he wished he could take the question back.

“It’s a hearing aid, if you have to know.” And just like that Steve’s defenses were raised and the glare in his eyes shone just like he got right before a fight started. Of course Bucky just didn’t know when to let things go.

“You always have that, or is it new?”

“I’ve been partially deaf since I was a baby.” Steve sneered. If Bucky has never seen Steve fight, he might have thought it was cute. As it was, he knew just how dangerous things had suddenly gotten and age old advice of never corner a frighten animal flashed through his mind.

“Huh, interesting. So you know that uh…” Bucky waved his hands around in front of him. “Language with the hands thing?”

Well fuck. Now he sounds so stupid. Holy shit. Bucky perhaps not for the first time, but certainly the most empathically, wished he was just as silent around Steve as he was the rest of the world because never in his life did he think when he finally talked he would sounds so dumb. Sign language Bucky, the term was sign language. Not hand thingy. Shit. Kill him now.

“Sign Language?” Steve asked, perhaps a little to kindly in Bucky’s opinion. “Yeah, kinda. I can still hear so it’s not the big of deal, but they say I’ll be deaf by time I’m thirty, I figured I gotta learn.” Steve shrugged. He didn’t take his eyes off of Bucky but he did look a bit more relaxed now.

“Cool cool.” Wow, could Bucky be even more awkward than he was right now because somehow he doubted it. Somehow he had reached peak dumb ass awkward and he didn’t even have to try. Way to go. “There’s this kid on my street who always uses sign language around his girlfriend, or sister, whatever. I’m not sure what she is, but I’ve always want to know what they’re saying to each other. Think you can teach me?”

“I’m not going to teach you sign language so you can spy on people.”

Bucky shrugged. “Okay, want to spy on them for me?”

“What?” Steve laughed.”No. No spying, that’s wrong.”

Bucky smirked, leaning back and letting the sun soak through his skin.

“Think you can teach me, anyway?”


	3. Tony Stark

Steve twirled his charcoal around to get the right edge, and then lightly brushed his pinky across the rough page. He blew slightly on the results, before picking up a different piece of charcoal. He scratched it against the page in a methodical motion as he turned his head to look at it from a different angle. 

“Hey Stevie, whatcha drawing?”

Steve nearly jumped right of his chair as he flailed, smearing a thick line black line down his cheek from the charcoal in his hands. Well, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time Steve had art supplies plastered against his skin. Looking up he saw Tony peering over at him with curiosity and amusment he didn’t bother to try to hide.

Steve sighed, rubbing at his cheek and hoping it would remove any stain.

“God, Tony, did you have to do that?” He asked.

Tony snorted. Steve knew him better than that.

“I think I did. Yes. I wasn’t really interested in what you were drawing before, but now I am. Let me see!”

“No.” Steve stated, closing his sketch pad. “Ever hear of personal boundaries or privacy?”

Again, Steve knew him better than to ask that question. Tony nearly rolled his eyes as he jumped up on his desk and leaned back.

“Sure I have. Pepper and Rhodey have given me the speech before I think. You shouldn’t have jumped like a little baby rabbit when I spoke up though. Not if you didn’t want me curious.”

Steve merely shrugged before turning away. It wasn’t that Steve disliked Tony or anything, it’s just, well okay, basically it's like this: Tony was the most popular kid in school thanks to his name and Tony not only seem to revel on the power, but he seemed greatly annoyed at it. Tony didn’t want attention for his name. He’d take attention from basically anything else though. His looks, his humor, his mind, or heck, even his life bedding every person he could. But most people just wanted to be friends with Tony for one reason- His last name is Stark. So Tony had taken it upon himself to annoy every kid who looked at him in awe, but had never known him. Tony was great at annoying people on a regular basis, let alone when he was trying and Tony prided himself on that.

Most people took it with a grain of salt- ‘The eccentric Starks,’ they’d say. Others took it personally. Usually some hot shot kid with a hot shot dad who was trying to smooze into Tony’s good graces. So when Tony would blow them off with cheap one-liner, they decided it was an attack on them. Then they decided to attack Tony.

Steve, being the little snot he was, had chosen that day of all days to take a detour through the park that ran behind his house. Tiny, itty bitty Steve with a heart of gold and fists that were made to fight had walked right by as three little shits took their shattered egos about the fact they had small dicks out on Tony because they didn’t know how to be normal human beings. Guys like that make Steve see red.

So Steve intervened. Broke some kid’s nose, and got his nose broken in return before Tony’s bodyguard showed up. They next day Tony showed up to his house, bruised, swollen face and all, to demand what Steve had wanted in return.

“Come on, kid. No one does something like that out of the goodness of their hearts.” Tony had demanded, and it was true. No one got themselves nearly killed out of the goodness of their hearts. But Steve had.

He didn’t even know who Tony Stark was until they had gotten into an argument on his door step over why Steve saved him. He had Googled him that night.

Steve wasn’t that impressed. Not that Tony had known that at the time otherwise things might have gone a little differently.

Tony just couldn’t believe anyone would do something that stupid without getting something in return and so the next day Steve found an envelope full of cash stuffed in his locker. He had tracked Tony down and shoved it right back in his face without a second thought.

Steve had ranted at him right in the middle of the hallway, with people surrounding him and everything, that he didn’t need some rich kid throwing money at him for no reason and he was insulted to his very core that Tony dared to think he would take some whiny rich kids money because he didn’t know how to fight and Steve had to save his ass.

Unfortunately, Tony didn’t know what to with that and made the only logical choice there was. Steve was after something way bigger and had devised a very long and thorough plan to get it. So Tony stuck to Steve’s side like glue after that- you know, to figure out what the plan was. And if he was his extra annoying self it certainly wasn’t some sort of weird screwed up friendship test thing like Pepper had suggested because that was weird and screwed up and Tony wasn’t either of those things…

That was two years ago, and Tony still hadn’t stopped trying to annoy the hell out of Steve, but it had dwindled down to his normal level of annoying and dare he say it, they might just be friends now.

Even the pranks had slowed…slightly.

Tony lifted his boot to rest on Steve’s desk and watched delightfully as Steve’s jumped and tucked his sketchbook closer.

“Seriously, I’m gonna steal that sketchpad. Consider this our truce warning.” Not that Tony cared about the truce rules that they had made three months ago after a particularly bad prank war, but, hey, he can be considerate sometimes.

“Tony, for once can you-”

“Oh hey, Stevie, I forgot to tell you! I’m having a party this weekend ‘cause my parents are out town and I want to say ‘fuck you’ in the best way possible.” Tony smirked as he leaned back and raised his voice so the rest of the class could hear him. “Make sure to tell all of your friends. The more the merrier. Bring booze!”

Loud music, warm bodies, and alcohol- There was no better way to spend a weekend in Tony’s opinion.

“Weren’t your parents gone last weekend, too?” Steve asked.

“Yup, and the one before that and the one before that. Pretty sure I haven’t seen them all year. It’s been fun, truth be told.” Tony laughed as he pulled his legs off his desk and poured himself into his seat.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “You know, instead of throwing parties, you can stay with me.” he offered.

“What? Why would I stay at your tiny house when I can stay in a mansion and drink all the booze I want? Come on, Stevie, think with your brain here.”

“Of course, of course. What was I thinking?” Steve shook his head as zipped up his backpack sealing his sketchbook inside. “Offer will remain on the table though.”

“I’ll consider your offer if you come to my party.”

“I don’t thi-”

“Shush, you’re coming. The decision has already been made in your head and you know it!”

Tony loved dragging Steve along with his wild parties because it was the only time he would ever see the kid let go and enjoy himself. Tony would never admit this, but sometimes he’d just throw parties to see Steve get slightly drunk and make out with some kid in his English class. Uptight Steve was fun, but drunk Steve was way better.

Also Tony had reputation to uphold, and parties were the best way to uphold it.

Steve’s, probably boring, reply was cut short by the teacher coming in and shushing the whole class as he pulled out his papers.

“Please sit down- oh, Stark is already in his seat. Well, today is going to be an interesting day, isn’t it?” Mr. Richards said in way of greeting. The class laughed slightly as Mr. Richards began class.

Tony zoned out as the teacher droned on about some project. It was physics so Tony was sure he’d ace it without listening to some boring speech about whatever. Instead he concocted a very fun plan to look into Steve’s sketchbook. Steve didn’t jump like that for just anything.

Finally Mr. Richards told everyone to get into groups of three and start working. Tony was pulled out of his planning by his name being called.

“Huh? Uh, Yes, Mr. Fantastic?” Tony nearly smiled as he heard Steve groan at the joke only they would understand.

To Mr. Richards credit he didn’t even blink. “Let’s try not to blow anything up this project, okay?”

“Aye, I’ll do my best.” Tony called as he loudly pushed his desk next to Steve’s. He was happy to see the Bruce had already dragged his desk over. Steve, Tony, and Bruce: There couldn't be a better combination in Tony's opinion. Well, except maybe if Rhodey was there, but that was another thought he didn't want to dwell on. 

Tony noticed Steve’s look of internal panic and learned over to stage whisper, “Don’t you worry, Stevie bear, Bruce and me are going to get you that A!”

Tony smirked as he leaned closer and whispered “But first I’m just going to take a peek at this.”

Steve gave an indignant cry as he realized Tony had grabbed his backpack and was digging out his sketchbook.

“Tony, I swear to God if you open that I will make sure you get no sex at your party this weekend.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Tony sighed.

Tony only felt slightly bad as Steve’s face turned red enough that even Tony wanted to ask if he was okay. In Tony’s defense, Steve should have known when he became friends with him that there would be no such thing as privacy. So yeah, Tony only felt slightly bad. Yup. Only slightly. Definitely not more than that. Nope.

“If you open that book I will tell that girl in your English class that won’t stop staring at you, that you have a secret crush on her!” Steve gritted out, and tony balked. Steve knew that Tony had been trying to shake that girl off for months. He had nearly succeeded too. All it would take was a few more carefully placed insults and walking away anytime she came near and he was sure she would never try to corner him in the restroom again. But if Steve told her that-

No he wouldn’t do that. There’s no way softhearted Steve could even be that mean. 

Looking up at Steve face though he knew that he was deadly serious. Whatever he was trying to hide, he desperately didn’t want Tony to see. He slowly slid the sketchbook back into the backpack.

Steve nearly smirked in triumph, that little snot.

“Way to fight dirty. I’m proud of you, Stevie.”

Bruce looked between Tony and Steve for a moment before letting out a small cough. “Get we talk about the project for a moment?” He asked.

Tony snorted looking down at the project instructions that had been handed out a few moments ago. “Brucie Bear, my dear sweet Bruce. You and I both know we could do this project in our sleep. What is there to talk about.”

“We could at least pretend to care.” Bruce sighed. “For Steve’s sake, we aren’t all secret geniuses around here.”

Tony rolled his eyes before pointing back over at Steve who was already zoned out sketching on the back of his copy of the project instructions. “You talking about this Steve? He could care less about this then us. Also speak for yourself. Nothing secret about my brain.”

“Oh yeah, that’s why you’re currently slugging your way through senior year instead of holed up at M.I.T where you clearly belong.”

Tony gave Bruce a withering look. “You’re one to talk.”

And before either one of them could broach the subject they so religiously avoided Tony cleared his throat and gestured to Steve once again. “Besides, I’ve secretly been testing Stevie over here for the last year. He’s not nearly as dumb as he wants people to think.”

“Huh?” Steve looked up hearing his name. “What about me?”

The bell covered the sounds of Tony’s laughter. “Nothing at all Stevie.”

Picking up their things they scrapped the tables back to where they were before Tony waved bye and Bruce walked out the door and into the hallway shoulder to shoulder with Steve.

Both of them completely missed the way Bucky Barnes eyes burned into their backs as Tony swung his arm around Steve’s shoulders and leaned in to whisper something in his ear.


	4. Lunches and Afterschool Standoffs

It was lunch and Steve was starving.

He hadn’t eaten anything since the night before when Tony had broken into his house with Pizza in one hand and Bruce Banner in the other declaring it ‘Study Night!’

Instead of studying however, they had sat in a circle around his coffee table playing rummy until three in the morning, Bruce and Tony demolishing the Pizza before he could even think to grab a slice. Steve’s own fridge embarrassingly low in food, so he decided to forgo dinner and get breakfast on the way to school.

Except on the way to pick up something quick in the early hours of the morning he spotted Bruce walking down the street head down and blood running down the side of his face.

Forgetting completely about the ache in his stomach he ran to catch up, a low panic a heavy weight in his chest.

Instead Bruce had shoved away with his teeth bared as he told Steve to fuck off.

Steve didn’t know what the fuck was going on, and the weight in his chest only increased when he came in to school to find Tony unusually quiet.

The day so far had been a total shit show. One Steve didn’t know how to fix because no one would tell him what the fuck was going on.

And then there was Bucky Barnes- The school loner, the punk who thought he owned the school, the jerk who glared at anyone who dared to get within a two foot Radius of him, the bad boy who winked at pretty girls, and the asshole who smoked in front of teachers without a care in the word.

Bucky Barnes was apparently also the kid who contrary to the image he tried to project, had decided to talk to Steve Rogers with kindness and hope in his eyes. If Steve said that he didn’t think about that often, he would be lying. He just couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on in his life anymore.

Steve sighed as he noticed Bucky standing down on the football field, smoking a cigarette. The sun hitting his face at just right angle to create a truly impressive scene.

If Steve suddenly rushed toward his backpack to dig out his sketchbook and a piece of charcoal so he could outline the lines of Bucky’s silhouette, well, that was because Steve was an artist and artists do not miss a chance to draw something as beautiful as that. No they do not. Besides that was no ones business but his own.

Most artists would pay a pretty penny to sit in with a model who didn’t look nearly half as good as Bucky did in this moment. Steve vaguely got angry with himself for never buying a camera, because no matter how much he tried he would never be able to recreate the light illuminating the his silhouette and making him look soft and as much as he detest to use the phrase otherworldly.

Steve took out his supplies, glanced down at Bucky, and then got lost in his drawing. The repetition of his movements causing a stillness in his soul that he rarely feel any other time. There were times in his life not so long ago he thought he would never calm to burning ache that seemed to press down at him every second of every day. The endless nightmares and the constant reminder to breath caused the days to pass by him in a blur, but when he looked down at a blank sketchpad suddenly his world sharpened and he could breath clear air. If only for a few moments.

“Hey, Punk.”

“Gah!”

Jesus effing Christ didn’t Bucky know not to sneak up on poor unsuspecting souls with breathing problems? Didn’t he know to act like a normal person and not scare the living daylights- wait, is he laughing? He is. He’s laughing. Steve was going to kill him. He didn’t even think it would be that hard.

“You always going to jump when I come and sit next to ya? Not that I don’t think it’s funny as hell but it can’t be good for your heart.” Bucky asked.

Steve looked over at him and saw that Bucky was leaning against the bleacher behind him with a lazy smile.

Steve shook his head as he angled his sketchpad so Bucky couldn’t see it.

“Maybe if you stop sneaking up on me.” Steve replied.

Bucky laughed and Steve’s hands twitched wanting to turn to a clean page in his sketch pad but instead tried to commit the image to his memory for later.

“Thought you saw me down there as I gave myself cancer. Sorry punk, I’ll try not to scare the living daylights out of you next time.”

“You didn’t scare me. You surprised me. Big difference.” Steve huffed.

“Sure, sure.” Bucky waved off the comment. “Whatcha drawing there?”

Steve’s face turned bright red as he carefully closed his sketchbook and placed it in his backpack.

“Nothing.” He mumbled. Somehow he didn’t think Bucky would take very kindly to some kid drawing him. Weird conversations or not.

“Okay.” Bucky shrugged. “I brought something for you.”

Steve stared at Bucky for a moment, confused, before a tubberware bowl hit him square in the stomach. Steve tried to suppress a cough.

“My mom went crazy cooking things last night and if someone doesn’t help us eat the leftovers it’s going to spoil in the fridge. If there’s one thing my Ma hates, its food going bad in the fridge.”

Steve opened the lid to find a large pile of perfectly cooked lasagna. It looked delicious and he was still starving.

“It’s warm.” Steve commented.

“I heated it up in the microwave before coming out here.”

Steve didn’t know what to do with that. Bucky Barnes, the punk kid he couldn’t stand was handing him food and heating it up for him. Steve didn’t know what to think, but he knew he couldn’t just take the kid’s lunch.

Steve looked up prepared to hand the food back to Bucky, only to see Bucky had his own tubberware bowl in his lap and was holding out a fork for Steve.

“Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to eat it with your hands.” He joked.

Steve really REALLY didn’t know what to think of this situation. He just reached out and took the fork. Bucky had obviously packed two lunches this morning, and he would have only done that if he thought more than one person was going to be eating it. The only person Bucky had ever eaten lunch with was Steve. That meant that Bucky had obviously been thinking of Steve and decided to bring him lunch.

Steve might not have known what to think of that, but he did know there was no way in hell he was going to decline his offer now.

“You didn’t have to-”

“I told you, it would have gone bad anyway.” Bucky interrupted. “That or I would have had to eat it and gotten fat. I’m just using you as a food disposal so I don’t ruin this perfect body.”

Steve snorted. “Wow, so thoughtful.”

“I know.” Bucky smirked as he shoved nearly the whole portion of lasagna he had in his mouth.

Steve looked down at his own meal and nearly shoved to whole portion in his mouth as well.

He was hungry.

They both sat in silence as they finished eating. Five minutes later and his last bite passing his lips, Steve felt a satisfied smile cross his face as he leaned back to mirror Bucky's own relaxed stance.

“You’re mom is a really good cook.” Steve commented handing Bucky the tubberware and fork back.

“Yes she is.” The smirk was gone, and in it’s place was a beautiful soft smile. Steve was sure he wasn’t meant to actually see it, but in that moment he couldn’t look away.

Steve continued to stare as Bucky seemed to shake himself out of it and shoving the dirty tubberware in his messenger bag.

“So I have a question for ya.” Bucky began. “I see you hanging out with that Stark kid all the time. What’s that about?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re friends right? Or what?”

Steve nodded, narrowing his eyes. He had several people over the years come up to him using that exact line, trying desperately to get some sort of hints on how they could enter Tony’s own personal circle themselves. They always left in disappointment. It stung to think that Bucky may be one of those people.

“Okay, so if you and Stark are friends, why don’t you eat lunch with him? Instead I see you out here every day freezing your ass off.”

Steve ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath.

“Tony is, you know, busy during lunch. He’s got a lot of…friends, and I don’t feel like being bothered by it all every day.”

Bucky just nodded and looked over the field. “Yeah, I guess I’d be the same way. Besides it’s beautiful out here, don’t you think? Every artist’s wet dream.”

Steve looked out along with Bucky and smiled. Yeah, it was pretty gorgeous.

Past the football field was a small row of trees that the morning dew had frozen on. The sun was hitting the ice at just the right angle to create thousands of little prisms that spread small translucent rainbows across the air.

A wonderland of sorts. Steve couldn’t think of anywhere else he would rather be.

* * *

What the hell were those kids saying?

Bucky had been home from school for barely 30 minutes and yet again these two kids sat on the sidewalk on the other side of the street signing to each other like they did every other day.

And, fuck, it annoyed the hell out of him.

It wasn’t the fact that they were signing and he couldn’t understand. No no, people have to communicate somehow, right? He of all people understood that.

It wasn’t even the fact they always sat right in view of his window. No, he didn’t really care about that. It was a free country. Everyone could do what they wanted.

It wasn’t like Bucky had a bad view when they were there either. Neither of the kids were bad looking. The boy had messy blonde hair, and always loved to wear anything purple- especially his purple combat boots. From what Bucky could tell from his window he had a piercing in the top of his ear and a lip ring. It looked good on him.

The girl had long red hair with perfect curls, and always dressed like she was getting ready to go to a concert with her eyebrow piercing, large boots, ripped jeans, and dark denim jacket lined with patches and pins. She even looked like she was about to kick ass in a mosh pit. Bucky could never decide from one day to the next which one was more attractive.

So no, it wasn’t that they were there and signing that bugged Bucky. The thing that bugged him was that every now and then they would both glance up towards his window as they talked. Both would eventually point up towards him like was the topic of their conversation. Which was just..irritating!

This was Bucky’s spot and every day he would sit on this window sill and read. He had done so for years and no one had bugged him about it before.

But a couple of months ago these two kids just sat down right across from his window and signed to each other and gesture towards Bucky and his window obviously trying to get his attention. That or they were just rude as hell.

Bucky just ignored them. He was not someone who could be baited so easily by two irrelevant kids. He certainly didn’t stare at them trying to decipher their facial features and he sure as heck didn’t ask Steve to teach him sign language the moment he found out he knew.

Nope. He, uh, definitely didn’t do that at all. Nu-uh. No siree.

Shit.

These two kids were starting to affect his life and that was a bit weird considering they’ve never even interacted before.

Also now that he thinks about it, asking some kid he just met to teach him sign language just because he was sort of deaf was actually a bit rude. He should maybe apologize. One day.

But anyway the point was that these two attractive kids were obviously trying to get Bucky’s attention and he was just irritated enough to do something about it.

So he grabbed a pad of sticky notes and a pen. Wrote something on the sticky notes and stormed down his stairs, past his mom in the living room and right out his front door. He was very careful not to slam the door because his Ma would be angry and that is not something he could deal with now.

But he did stomp across the street as angry as he could and made sure not the let the realization that he forgot to put shoes on cross his face.

Shit it was cold.

He stopped right in front of the two kids and waited for them to look up him before thrusting the sticky note in their faces.

Bucky became even more confused as the blonde’s eyes skimmed the paper and he began to pout, his lip ring making his bottom lip stick out all the more, but the redhead’s lips curved up to produce a small sinister smile as she held her hand out towards the blonde. He quickly dug around in his pockets and produced a five dollar bill which he slapped on the redhead’s hands.

She turned back to Bucky, he smile losing it’s edge only slightly. “Hey, I’m Tasha, and the idiot who bet against me here is Clint.”

The blonde, Clint, groan before falling back against the ground. He cross his arms over his chest and he shook his head. “I can’t fucking believe it. Two more days, just two.” Clint muttered.

Bucky tilted his head in confusion and looked over to Tasha hoping for an explanation. Tasha patted the ground besides her indicating for Bucky to sit. He really wasn’t sure that he wanted to do that though.

On one hand he wants to know exactly what these kids want and what all of this was about. On the other hand, this really wasn’t going how he imagined it and he desperately wanted to go back to his room and read on his window sill. He did not want to be here at all. He wanted to be not here. He wanted to have his chest not tighten up. He wanted to get the words out of his mouth that he desperately wanted to say.

They were just words. People spoke to communicate. They were just words.

He wanted to turn and walk back to his house where only his mom would bother him. He wanted to be on the football field bleachers where no one was there and he could speak to Steve.

Okay, so he could speak to Steve. Huge accomplishment in his life he had tried very very hard not to think about.

And most of the time he succeeded except now he was thinking about it. Right in front of these two kids who were obviously trying to get him to come out and interact with him. What did they even want with him anyway? What could they have possibly wanted with him because Bucky sure as hell knew it wasn’t so they could see him freeze up and have an internal panic attack.

Nope. God, what was he even thinking?

Actually he knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that these two kids used sign language so he came to the stupid ass conclusion that they couldn’t hear him if he spoke so they wouldn’t need him to speak. And now they’re both staring at him waiting for something to happen that never would.

Yup, he is even more of a freak than normal. Clint had sat back up and was using his teeth to play with his lip ring and Tasha was just calmly staring at him. They were both waiting patiently, unbothered by the weird tense silence that had surrounded them.

Okay. Bucky could do this. He could. He spoke to Steve without a single problem. And it kinda seems like Steve doesn’t even like Bucky all that much so it shouldn’t be a problem to speak to two kids on the street with no one else around. It shouldn’t be a problem.

He spoke to Steve.

He spoke to Steve and he didn’t even think about it. It didn’t even cross his mind that he shouldn’t be speaking.

So why was this such a big deal now?

WHY THE HELL CAN’T HE JUST SAY FUCKING HI? One simple word. That’s all it was. One stupid simple noise. 2 year olds could say hi.

Well fuck, he was more pathetic than a two year old.

God, he wanted a cigarette.

Bucky quickly looked back to his house to make sure his Ma wasn’t looking out the window before promptly sitting right were Tasha had patted. He dug in his pockets a moment before pulling out a pack of cigarettes with a lighter stuck between the film and the pack. He quickly hit the bottom the pack with the palm of his hand pushing out a cigarette so he could grab it and put it between his lips.

After he lit the cigarette, he took a deep breath, letting the smoke burn his lungs. He motioned wordlessly for Tasha to speak hoping she would understand.

She shrugged. “We noticed you in school. You have a reputation for being a little bit of a loner. Me and Clint here thought you could use a friend.”

Bucky looked toward Clint who was nodding. “Yeah, we figured you’d just blow us off if we approached you, so we devised a plan to get you to approach us.”

Tasha looked over at Bucky who was now getting out his second cigarette and taking large puffs. “In hindsight it might have been a little bit manipulative. We shouldn’t have done things this way. We didn’t think of the possibility that there’s a personal reason you don’t speak to anyone.”

There was a tense silence again, while Tasha and Clint looked at each other. Shame crossed their faces briefly before Clint shrugged turning back to Bucky.

“But we’re here now.” Clint smiled and jerked his head towards Tasha. “Me and Tasha here know what it’s like to be alone. We didn’t mean any harm.”

Tasha looked down at the frayed ends of her shirt and then back up to look right in Bucky’s eyes. “If you want us to leave, we will. But I have a feeling you don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Bucky closed his eyes trying to process everything that was happening. He wasn’t alone. He just chose not to have many friends. People were annoying. They were suffocating. They always wanted something Bucky couldn’t give.

Besides he wasn’t totally alone. He had his Ma. He’d always have his Ma. And he had Steve at lunch time.

Granted Steve seemed to dislike him, but Bucky could talk to him without stuttering or having a panic attack. Steve would even give civil responses and conversations.

And maybe Steve wasn’t strictly a friend, but he could be some day if Bucky could learn not to annoy him.

Not that Bucky wanted to be friends with Steve. Nope. Bucky didn’t care. He was just some kid who Bucky could talk too.

Some skinny rotten little punk kid who got the shit beat out of him for sticking up for some nerd. Bucky only sat and talked with him because the kid seemed lonely. Bucky had thought the kid was like him, he just needed a fri-

Oh.

No. No. No.

Bucky didn’t need anyone. He had himself and his Ma. He didn’t need-

“So, what do say? We’re super pretty cool.” Clint stated. “Wanna be friends?”

Bucky looked down at the sticky notes and read what he wrote originally.

_‘Hi, I’m Bucky.’_

He snorted and tore the sticky note off the pad, crumbled it up and threw it in the street.

He took a deep breath twirling the pen in his hand before bringing it to the pad to write one word.

_‘Sure.’_


	5. 2nd Stage: Anger

Sometimes Bucky imagined himself going up to Steve and telling him he hated him.

Because he did. Oh yes, Bucky hated him so much that he thought about writing ‘Bucky Barnes hates Steve Rogers’ all over his notebooks. He’d complete it with small arrow through the A in hate, just to be fancy. The thing is Steve Rogers was a nobody. He was just some punk kid with a wound up ball of angry in him who had stared right up at Bucky with nothing but fire in his eyes.

Yet the kid had the fucking audacity to- He fucking had the nerve to-

Bucky Barnes hated Steve Rogers. This wasn’t the first time he had come to this conclusion, but it certainly wasn’t the best.

“Are you doing well today, James?” A soft voice asked.

As much as Bucky hated Steve he wasn’t sure it compare to the owner the voice who that just spoke to him. Across from him in a small box of a room, filled with plastic plants and lighting designed to give you a headache, sat Dr. Maria Hill. Every other week she would try to pry his brain open and figure out what was wrong with him.

As if one person could figure that out.

His absolute refusal to say anything to her in the last five years didn’t stop her from trying though. Every other week she’s stare him down as he sat stoically in front of her, ask meaningless stupid questions and then tell him they’ve made great progress and that she can’t wait to talk to him again soon. He was pretty sure she was making fun of him.

Three years ago she had taught him breathing exercises to control his anger once he started getting into fights at school. He never used them unless he was in her office. Her face begged at him to scream at her, call her out of her bullshit, to just do something or anything to stop looking at him like he was an open book to her. But his mouth just didn’t work anymore, so instead he’d take a deep slow breath counting backwards from ten and shrug at her question.

She nodded, writing in her notebook as if his shrug was the most thought provoking thing he had done. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead propped his dirty boots on the small table in front of the large chair he sat in. He felt like the chair was trying to swallow him whole. He’s not sure he would mind at this point.

Twenty nine more minutes and counting.

“How is school going?” She asked. As if she didn’t know. He knew all his teachers sent his Ma monthly reports on his progress and his Ma forwarded them to Dr. Hill. He also knew every single email said that he was excelling in all his classes. The only time he had any problems was group projects and that’s because those morons didn’t think him competent enough to actually do any of the work. Just because he didn’t talk didn’t mean he was stupid.

Dr. Hill nodded at the silence.

“Last year of high school. Must be exciting for you. Are you looking into any colleges?” Bucky didn’t even blink at the question. He just continued staring at the horrendous floral pattern on the chipped wallpaper behind her.

Colleges? No. Why would he do that? He didn’t have a job he wanted to go into. He didn’t have a dream life he wanted to lead. He wasn’t even sure he deserved-

He didn’t even know if colleges accepted applicants for people who refuse to talk. He was required by law to go to high school, but college wouldn’t let him continue without talking. Oral reports are apparently a big thing.

No, school wasn’t something he was looking into, no matter what he told his Ma, and if he was truthful with himself he wanted to enlist. Travel. Do some good and protect the people who really needed it. But then again, the Military wouldn’t accept him either, so what was even the point?

“Has there been anyone new in your life?” Hill asked. Bucky resisted the urge to roll his eyes. She tried so hard to act like her and his Ma weren’t talking. She tried so hard to give him a false sense of privacy that it actually kind of sad to witness. Bucky just shrugged again though knowing she would know what he actually meant to say was yes. Dr. Hill spent five years waiting for this moment, he might as well make her happy at least once. She didn’t smile like he expected her too though. She just nodded solemnly and wrote more things down her book before setting it down of the table.

“James. I want you to listen to me, okay?” She paused waiting for him to truly look at her. “You can’t expect things to get better over night. It’s really great that you’re letting people other than your family into your life. It’s a huge step, and it’s something you should be proud of. But you need to know that this isn’t your one step getting better program. It’s going to get harder from this point on. And you’re going to get frustrated and want to give up. Please, for your sake keep moving forward.” She stared at him for a moment, her lips forming into a small thin line. Bucky didn’t even try to meet her gaze. Normally he’d stare her right in the eyes to let her know that she doesn’t have anything on him. His life is his own. She can’t tell him about his life anymore than the next person could. But this time she was right.

She was fucking right. He had talked to Steve like it was as easily as breathing. He started the conversations even! Joked! He talked longer than he could ever remember and his throat felt used by end of each of their conversations. He thought that was it! He had fucking done it! He got over this god forsaken part of his life. He wasn’t broken anymore. And then came Tasha and Clint and he couldn’t force the words out of his mouth when he tried.

No matter how hard he wished he could and no matter how many times he opened his mouth, all that came out was silence. Wasn’t that just the kicker? He could talk and then all of a sudden he couldn’t. He hated it.

He hated it. He thought he had fucking cured everything and he didn’t. He fucking didn’t.

Now it just a whole lot clearer that he’s broken.

“One step at a time, James. Remember that. Try to communicate clearly with the new people in your life. Write them notes or letters. Keep a notebook handy. You don’t even have to give them the letters if you don’t want to. Just write down what you want to say and choose for yourself if you want to them to hear you.” She smiled at him then. The kind of smile that lets a person know that they truly see them, care for them even.

“You don’t have to talk for people to listen.”

* * *

Bucky Barnes was not by any sense of the word, a likeable guy. He knew this.

He glared at people till they would leave him alone and if that wasn’t enough he’s kick their face in hard enough to make sure they never thought about messing with him again. People didn’t come near Bucky unless he wanted them too. Even then most didn’t try to stray close.

After what happened to him-

When Bucky stopped talking even his father didn’t seem to know what to do with him. He had tried to pat Bucky on the shoulders in the beginning but stopped quickly when all Bucky would do was flinch. His Ma was the exception. She was always there, always close by in case he needed her. He couldn’t have been more grateful if the whole thing hadn’t happened in the first place. He sees the resentment in his father’s eyes sometimes and wonders why he can’t see the same in his Ma's.

Looking back Bucky was sure this family wouldn’t have survived what had happened if it wasn’t for Rebecca.

Rebecca was a year old when the police showed up on his parents door step with Bucky clinging to a bright orange blanket as he tried to stay standing. Bucky had never met Rebecca. He had been gone to long for that.

After he was cleared to stay home Bucky thought he would hate the little girl who liked purple and green hair ties and thought he should wear her pink and yellow ones.

He should resent her. It’s obvious his parents would be better off with just her as a child. But even at one the little girl was a cuddler and Bucky was the only acceptable person who could hug her after her nightmares.

For the first time he felt like his chest wasn’t completely empty and iced over.

Now Rebecca was five, “Almost six!” she’d declare proudly holding up two hands, and although Bucky had yet to say a word to her she didn’t seem to care. She had come home one day from school and ran right up to Bucky to let him know that today in school she learned her letters and that soon she would be able to read and they would be able to talk by writing!

Every day she would grab his hand and pull him to the table she would do her homework on. She would hand him a piece of paper and a pencil before getting to work. “That way we can both be super good at writing!” She declared to him. Bucky just smiled and went along with it every single time. Sometimes he would draw her small pictures, all of which were hanging on the walls in her room, and other times when she was having trouble figuring out how to write a particular letter he would let her watch how he wrote it.

She always smiled at him with the largest smile he had ever seen. Smiles that he knew were for him and him alone.

If Bucky was to choose the first person he was going to talk to, it would have been Rebecca. It would have been the little sister who from the very first day he came home broken loved him unconditionally. It would have been the little girl who desperately wanted to hear her brother say that he loved her back.

If Bucky had chosen who he was going to start speaking too, it most certainly wouldn’t have been some punk kid who told him what to do.

It wouldn’t have been Steve fucking Rogers.

Bucky found himself closing his eyes and taking a slow breath. Rebecca was sitting beside him, pencil grazing the page as she practiced the word ‘Cat’. Bucky reached over and ruffled her hair before landing a soft kiss on her forehead. She looked up at him and smiled before kissing him briefly on the nose. “Love you, too.” She chirped before going back to her homework.

For once in his life he took Dr. Hill’s advice and began writing a letter.

_Dear Steve,_

_I’m not sure who I hate more at this point. You or me…_


	6. Sleepless in Brooklyn

A blacksmith must hit a sword several times in order to shape it. It starts off as a shapeless block of metal, then it’s heated and melted and cooled over and over again as the blacksmith uses precision to abuse, hit, and shape the useless hunk into something beautiful, sharp and deadly.

In the same respect, tragedy is the way the world shapes the human soul.

Without tragedy how much is a human soul even worth? What does it truly know of love? Or of happiness? If a soul hadn’t lost everything, then what can it know of want?

These are the thoughts that kept Steve Rogers awake at three in the morning tossing and turning on a tear soaked pillow.

Without tragedy, how can you truly know what life is worth?

Steve turned his head, burying his nose and mouth into the pillow, and screamed. Once all the air had left his lung and his chest hurt with the force, Steve sat up and silently stared at the alarm clock on his night stand.

3:37 A.M.

Rubbing his face Steve stood and grabbed his inhaler from the top of dresser. Placing the tube in his mouth he began making his way towards the kitchen and inhaled quick and sharp. Steve swallowed around the bitter taste on the back of his tongue before quickly making his way out of the room.

He turned on every light from the bedroom to the kitchen- not even bothering to be quiet. There was no one in the house he could wake anymore. His Ma’s room sat silent and dark across from Steve’s own as it had in the last year and as it would for the rest of his life.

Once in the kitchen he grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the faucet. Grime coated him tongue as he greedily gulped it down. He wished he had bottled water he could drink, but he hadn’t gone grocery shopping this mouth. It was stupid thing to do considering Social Services had a way of popping up with sneak visits at the worse times, and they wouldn’t think kindly of an empty fridge.

One more year and he won’t have to worry about it anymore, though. Just one more year and his government appointed babysitters will stop harassing him about pointless things. He’s already proven beyond a doubt that he could take care of himself just fine, age be damned.

Steve sighed as he placed the empty glass by the sink. He wasn’t going to be getting any more sleep tonight. He should try working on the commission pieces he had piled around the house- he had rent to pay after all- but he wasn’t positive he’d able to keep his mood out of his work and he’s not so sure his clients would appreciate the drastic change in ‘vision’.

He ran his hands through his hair and began pacing the kitchen. He had too much energy and no place to expel it. He tried to do jumping jacks but the heavy weight in his chest, clenching around his heart and lungs, made him stop quickly. Homework was out of the question, he would never be able to sit still long enough to get any actual work done. Besides, all of his homework was done before he even tried to sleep. The only thing left was the big science project but Bruce and Tony were supposed to help him with that.

Tony understood a lot more about what they were trying to do anyway. Tony spent his whole life breathing in science and exhaling genius. Heck, he was probably up right now working on something he’d never show anyone.

Steve paused for a moment then moved quickly. Berating himself Steve went back to his room to dig out his cell phone. He quickly found Tony’s number and hit call before he could talk himself out of it. Several minutes later the phone was still ringing and Steve cursed to himself for even thinking about calling Tony. Just as he pulled his phone away to press ‘end call’ he heard a breathless “Yeah, hi, who’s this?”

“Uh,yeah, Tony? It’s Steve.” Steve mumbled. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. Why did he think to bother Tony so late?

“Steve! Hey buddy, what’s up?” Tony’s voice came through as if he had he was on speaker phone and Steve distinctly heard a crash in the background that was soon followed by a light curse from Tony.

“I’m sorry for calling so late. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“What? Late? It’s not late, it’s only…okay never mind.” Tony paused and there was a shuffled before Tony’s voice came back louder and clearer. “What’s going on?”

Steve looked down at his lap and played with a long piece of string that unraveled from his shirt. “Oh you know, nothing much. I can call back another time. It’s really not a big deal.”

“No biggy. I’ve been up all night working on something and since you’re up and I’m up, you should come over so I can show off.”

Steve took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back. “I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.”

* * *

Five pep talks and seventeen minutes later Steve found himself face to face with a frowning Tony.

“You’re late.” Tony told him, gripping Steve’s arm and pulling him through a part of his home that was normally barricaded off during parties. Steve tried to slow him down to look at the paintings that lined the walls but Tony just kept pulling.

“I was only a few minutes late.”

“Yes, and a few minutes could mean the difference between life and death.”

Steve raised an eyebrow before shaking his head. Tony always did have to be dramatic. That was why Steve was not surprised when Tony stopped then in front of what seemed to be a metal door with a keypad beside it. Tony flung his arms out to present the door like a prize on a cheesy game show.

“It’s a very nice door, Tony.” Steve told him.

Tony snorted and flung his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “You joke now, Stevie, but you are about to get the privilege that only two other people in the world have gotten. You are about to see my workshop.” Tony smiled, showing as much teeth as he could, and flung his arm out to present the door again.

Steve bumped his hip against Tony’s. “Well, what are we waiting for then?”

Tony laughed as he grabbed Steve’s shoulders and twisted him around to where he was facing away from the door.

“Okay, prepare yourself.” Tony said. There was a clicking, which Steve assumed was Tony imputing a code into the keypad, and then large hands covered Steve’s eyes.

“Alright, this is going to be great.” Tony mumbled as he began maneuvering a blind Steve back toward the metal door.

“If you make me hit something or trip, I’m going to be mad.”

“Just trust me a little bit for once in your life. Okay, now stop right there and prepare yourself for awesome!” When Tony removed his hands Steve couldn’t help but to stare. The whole room was bigger than his house and was filled from floor to ceiling with wires, shelves, shiny metal tables, computer screens and what seemed to be a lot of spare parts from a car.

“I know it’s not much, but I had to keep the construction from my father. It’s a little bit of a thrift store feel, but it works for what I need it for.” Tony immediately went over to a table on the far end of the room and began messing with a large piece of metal that was nothing but a box and a robotic arm. “I’m sure I can get this working tonight.” He mumbled, pulling on a pair of goggles and picking up a soldering iron leaving Steve to explore the room by himself.

“Tony.” Steve managed to breathe out. “This whole wall is nothing by computer screens.” If this was ‘thrift store’ than Tony must think Steve lives in a dumpster.

“Oh, yeah. It’s actually a bit of a hazard. I’m working on an interactive hologram to take it’s place that way I can have that wall free. But it’s more of a two person job, which is why I’m making this little guy right here.”

“What is it?” Steve asked.

“It’s an assistant. I need more than two arms so I made a third! He’ll be voice controlled and even have a small level of independent thought, so if something happens to me it can help.” Tony smiled back up at Steve briefly before going back to a small panel on the side of the robot.

Steve smiled back brushing off some parts from a small bench and sitting down. “No one can come by to help?”

Tony shrugged. “Rhodey comes by sometimes, but his time is apparently more valuable now that he’s in college. Jarvis is here but he does enough as it is. And hey, you’re here now, but I’m afraid if I ask you to hand me something you’ll fall apart trying to lift it.”

“Funny.” Steve mumbled.

“Besides I needed someone to work with my schedule. Other people supposedly sleep and have a life outside of me, so I’m making something that this doesn’t need either.”

“That seems pretty depressing, Tony.”

Tony looked back up to Steve, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Oh yeah? If you want to get into that conversation, what exactly was it that had you running into my sweet embrace at four in the morning?”

“Point taken.” Steve chuckled. “Now finish your robot.”

“It’s already finished!” Tony stood suddenly, picking up the robot and placing it on the floor. “Now for testing!” Tony paused for a moment before smiling gleefully at Steve. Not breaking eye contact Tony called out “Turn on.”

Steve watched a shiver ran down Tony’s spine and two small beeps sounded from beside the table. “Voice activated!” he whispered to Steve.

Steve smiled back. “That’s incredible, Tony!”

“Right. Now comes the fun part. Testing phase one.” Tony declared moving to stand just in front of Steve, careful not to block his view. “Hand me that wrench.” The robot twirled its hand, delighted to be given in order and reached down to grab the wrench that Tony had placed on the table but instead in its claw hands it picked up the soldering iron Tony had yet to remove.

“What no, not that you idiot. The wrench. That’s the soldering iron.” Tony walked over and pried the soldering iron out of its claw before pointing to the wrench lying on the table. “That’s a wrench. Bring me the wrench.”

The robot whined and lowered its claw upset at being scolded at before it chirped back up and reached over for the wrench and placing it in Tony’s outstretched hand. Steve felt his cheeks start to hurt not being able to stop himself from smiling wide at the small robot.

“That’s amazing, Tony. That’s really…that’s really great Tony.”

“Well, it’s a start.” He replied walking back over to Steve and sitting beside him.

“Now pick up every wrench and place it in the red box over in that corner.” Tony called out to his new creation. The robot chirped once before it began wheeling around the workshop.

“No really, I can’t believe you made that!” Steve said, still marveling at the robot. Tony just rubbed the back of his neck and leaned back.

“It’s not like ground breaking or anything. It’s just a stupid arm. Oh, but you know what we can do? We can present this as our science project.”

“As cool as it would be to see everyone’s faces, I don’t think it fits all the qualifications.” Steve laughed. “We’re supposed to present a project on what we learned this year, and I think we skipped the chapter on advance robotics.”

Tony snorted. “The only thing I learned from Mr. Richards’ class was that Ms. Storm likes to call him Mr. Fantastic as she orgasms, and the supply closet isn’t as quiet as he thinks it is.”

“Oh my god.” Steve groaned shaking his head. “I don’t think we can do a project on that.”

“With all the times I caught them, I think I have more than enough data to work something out.” Tony shrugged.

They both burst into laughter for a moment before settling down and watching the robot on the other end of the room place a wrench into the red box, reach in and take it out, and then place it back in.

“Hey, dummy, once it’s in the box leave it there and find a new wrench.” Tony called out causing the robot to chirp as it began to move towards a different area in the room.

“What a dumb little bot I’ve created.” Tony whispered.

Steve blinked over at Tony before choosing not to reply. The words didn’t seem to be for him and besides, he didn’t want to break the serene smile that seemed to have graced Tony’s face. They sat in comfortable silence just watching the robot twirl around the room. It glided across the slick floor, chirping a song as it worked. It was truly a really great invention and Steve wondered, not for the first time, why Tony kept so much of his intellect a secret.

“Steve?” Tony called from beside him. Steve looked up to see the full intensity of Tony’s gaze looking at him. There were several more moments before Tony blurted out. “Can I kiss you?”

Shocked Steve sat there staring at Tony with wide eyes, trying to figure out where that came from.

“Not in like a ‘I want to fuck you’ way or anything, unless that’s what you want, but in like a science way.”

“A science way?” Steve asked.

Tony grimaced. “Yeah, a science way.”

“I don’t think I understand what you mean.”

“Uh, okay, well, it’s like this: I need to experiment. I need more data. I know I’m known for having a lot of sex, and believe me it’s not a lie, but it’s not really how people say it is. I mean it’s just different and I don’t know if it would be better if it’s someone I like or not.”

Tony didn’t move as Steve stared at him. This wasn’t a request he ever thought he would get from Tony. Yes, they’re friends and Steve knew more about Tony than most, but he also knew Tony didn’t risk his friends with quick fucks. Tony had told him that himself as he drunkenly told Steve about why he and Pepper were such good friends.

“So you want to kiss me because…?” Steve asked.

Tony sighed slumping down. “Because Steve, I like having sex and kissing people and getting all hot and bothered because it feels good. Because I like the way it feels. But everyone always says that you’re suppose to look at someone and want to do that because it’s them, and it’s suppose to be magical because you want to be with that person. I don’t get that. I’ve never looked at someone and wanted to have sex with them because it’s them. I was trying to explain this to that girl I’ve been with for the last week, Sarah, and she got mad because she thought I was telling her she wasn’t pretty or something. She didn’t get it, no matter what I said, and I think there might be something wrong with me Steve. It’s just…never mind, it’s nothing. I haven’t slept in three days. Just ignore me.”

Steve reached up and gripped Tony’s sleeve as he trying to stand. “Okay.”

Tony looked back over at Steve, his mouth slightly open and eyes wide. “What?”

“It’s okay.” Steve replied. “It’s okay if you want to kiss me. I think I understand what you’re trying to tell me and if I can help, I will. And no matter what happens, I’ll understand.”

Tony nodded pressing his lips together.

There was crushing silence as neither knew what to do or who should move first before Tony surged forward and pressed his dry, chapped lips against Steve’s own soft ones.

Tony tastes like day old coffee, Steve thought as he pulled away.

Tony stood squinting his eyes at Steve for several moments before shrugging.

“Well,” Tony started, “that was certainly- Hey no, you dumb little shit, that’s not a wrench. That holds the table up. Don’t move that.”

Steve laughed as Tony sprinted over to try to move the robot, swearing the whole time.

“I swear to God, I’m gonna name you Dumb Little Shit if you don’t fucking stop.”

“Tony.”

Tony looked up to face Steve’s raised eyebrow before going back to chasing his little robot.

“Oh right, yeah sorry Stevie pie but I just don’t think you’re my type. Hope we can still be friends.”

Steve laughed before it was cut sharply by a large yawn forcing it’s way out.

“I’ll always be your friend, Tony. You know that.”

They shared a soft smile with each other relief flooding through them. Neither one wanted anything to change in their lives, and it felt nice that they knew exactly where the other stood. The same as they always had been, the same as they always would.

Suddenly sparks flew as the little robot rammed into one the screens on the far wall causing a large crack to appear.

“Fuck! I’m gonna dismantle you, you little shit!”

The Robot chirped, spinning around and causing both of them to laugh once again before the chasing resumed.


	7. Wednesday

If there were alternate realities out there, Tony was sure most of them would be better than the one he’s in now.

Perhaps his alternate parents wouldn’t stay away so for long in some far off place or perhaps alternate Tony didn’t care so much about being alone. Perhaps his other version didn’t stay in school to be with people his own age and moved forward for his own sake instead of caring about what would piss his father off.

Maybe, if an alternate reality was truly out there, he would have made a name for himself already so he could stop living under his father’s shadow. And maybe in some other world, he wasn’t so lost and broken. Maybe it didn’t matter at all to any other version of him. But to the version he is now- he cares.

He cares so much he wants to double over and clutch at his chest because it hurts. It hurts so much. It hurts when he goes places and all anyone can see is his family name. It hurts when girls look at him with lust filled eyes and the only questions they asked is if he wants to fuck them. (“What’s your name?” He wants to ask. “Your dreams? Your aspirations? Why me?” But the one time he did ask she laughed at him and told him he didn’t have to worry about that stuff. She only wanted to fuck after all.)

It hurts when he comes home to an empty house. It hurts when Jarvis is the one that wakes him up on Christmas morning with a sad smile on his face he tried to hide and a small gift he placed beside Tony’s pillow.

It hurts when the only time his father was home this year, he yelled at Tony for staying in high school and not just going to M.I.T.

“I was already done with school when I was your age.” Howard had said to him and then, as if Tony wasn’t standing right there, mumbled, “What good was having a kid if he’s dumb as fuck?”

It hurt when Howard walked away and Jarvis places a hand on Tony’s shoulder to make sure he didn’t hit anyone.

It wasn’t the Tony wasn’t smart. It wasn’t that Tony couldn’t have already been through school ten times over. It’s just that Tony didn’t want to just be the boy wonder. He didn’t want to just be the kid that followed in a shadow of a great man. Tony didn’t need a piece of paper to define how smart he was. He already knew. Besides, at least this proved Howard knew SOMETHING about him. Anything was fine. Anything at all.

_And it hurt because kids his age were suppose to be loved._

Sitting outside the school, phone in hand with trembling fingers, he tried to get his breathing to calm down as he debated making a call.

It was lunch and like every single day a mob of people fought over who was going to sit next to him. He didn’t know any of their names of course. Some were cheerleaders, others were just people who thought high school was some sort of competition and Tony Stark was the prize. He would smile at them, and woo them with false stories of parties and sexual conquests and they would be enthralled. They would ask him about his next party, and a hand or two would sneak under the table to grab at his knee or his thigh and sometimes someone would be brave enough to venture upward. It took everything in him to stay there and fake his smile and continue on as if his skin wasn’t crawling.

It was his decision to stay after all. His choice and he had to live with the consequences.

He just wished he could have a normal lunch with Bruce and Steve and everyone else would just fuck off.

Today had been worse than most. His admirers were more energetic with idea of his upcoming party and hands seemed to be grabbier. He had gotten no sleep last night as he built his helper bot and Steve had come over halfway through with red eyes and pale cheeks and they both nearly had emotional breakdowns all over each other. (Even if Steve had acted like it was all okay. Tony knew the look in his eyes. He knew what loneliness looked like when you tried to hide it.) So when the hands wouldn’t leave him alone and questions wouldn’t stop and he could feel the breath of every person hovering over him he had excused himself to the bathroom and walked right out of the school.

He circled around the building till he found a spot across from the football field and slid down the rough brick of the building until he felt scratches along his back and his butt hit the ground. And then he dug out his phone and scrolled through is contacts until he found the one person he wanted to talk to and then just froze.

He couldn’t just call him because he was having a bad day. He couldn’t just call him to whine about pointless things because Tony was a big boy and he could handle his own shit. Besides Rhodey was in college now. He had his own shit to deal with and a whiny high school brat wasn’t going to make his day any better. No he couldn’t call Rhodey because he already had too much on his plate, and Tony knew that he couldn’t take it if Rhodey told him he didn’t want to talk to him right now.

Decision made he nearly called Pepper, but remembering what he had told her the last time he spoke to her, drunk out of his mind and lonely as hell, and quickly pushed that idea away. He didn’t want to continue or remember that conversation with the disappointed voice of one of his most precious friends running through is brain.

So instead, he sat his phone down and resisted the urge to scream. He looked forward with unfocused eyes, as he tried to get his thoughts to quiet down. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.

There’s no one out here with him but the wind and some skinny kid on the bleachers.

Wait.

Tony blinked several times, trying to get his eyes to focus and for one heart stopping moment Tony Stark sat there, back digging into rough stone and hands digging up clumps of dirt as anger ran through his veins.

Steve Rogers was sitting there, his small body curled protectively around a sketch pad.

Steve Rogers. The one and same that had showed up at his house at fuck o’clock last night looking like shit. The Steve Rogers who had saved his life as some assholes kicked the shit out of him. The Steve Rogers he had kissed last night. The Steve Rogers who had just smiled at Tony as he felt okay for the first time in a long time. The Steve Rogers that he had foolishly believed had a different lunch schedule then him because he knew his FRIEND Steve Rogers would have sat with him to offer some sort of sanity because that’s the type of person he is.

He shouldn’t have been so stupid. Tony didn’t have friends like that. Tony had friends who were only around when it was a convenience to them.

And that-That wasn’t fucking fair because Tony had proven himself damn it. He had been a good friend. He had let Steve fucking Rogers into his life because he fucking thought Steve fucking Rogers wasn’t like the rest and- No. Steve didn’t get to do that to him. He didn’t get to just-

And that was that.

Tony pushed himself up, clapped his hands together to get rid of the dirt and stomped his way right up to the bleachers and then right up to stand in front of Steve. Steve looked up with wide eyes clutching his sketch pad as Tony moved in front him. Several moments passed as Tony glared and Steve looked at him stunned. Then to Tony’s astonishment, Steve smiled.

Tony had to stop himself from stepping back at the warmth of the smile and opened his mouth tell Steve off or yell at him or anything really, but Steve spoke first.

“Got away from all your admirers, huh?” He asked.

A beat of silence and then Tony lost all his anger. He slumped down to sit on the ice cold bleacher next to Steve. Of course the people who forced themselves to Tony’s side wouldn’t let tiny nerdy Steve within five feet of him. Knowing Steve he had probably tried but Tony had been too preoccupied to notice.

“I thought you had a different lunch than me. Like Bruce.” Tony heard himself say. His voice sounded small and raw and he hated himself for it. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and plastered a smirk across his face.

Steve’s eyebrows came together, forehead wrinkling as he looked over at Tony before he shrugged. “It gets a tad too crowded in there, so I come out here instead.”

Tony nodded looking around. “It’s nice. Quiet.”

Steve gasped dramatically and placed a hand over his heart as he looked over at Tony with laughter dancing in his eyes. “Is the great Tony Stark admitting he likes peace and quiet?”

“No.” Tony snorted through a small chuckle. "It’s grating at me as we speak. I’m wondering if I can find a way to blare music through those speakers.”

Steve chuckled and threw another smile at Tony before turning back to his sketch pad to finish whatever it was that he was drawing. Tony, contrary to most days, didn’t try to look this time. He didn’t want to interrupt whatever peace they had surrounding them. Tony needed time to breath, and Steve seemed to subconsciously make sure Tony had it.

It was nice- them sitting there in silence. No need to answer pointless questions and act like…well anything really. He didn’t have to pretend to be anything he wasn’t.

It was prefect all up until the moment it wasn’t. Just as Tony got the courage to say “So, about last night” heavy footsteps sounded on the bleachers.

For a split second he had to urge to stand up and place himself in front of Steve. Bucky Barnes stood at the bottom looking straight up at them.

Bucky Barnes, the kid who’s only reputation is that he’s silent as fuck and kicks the shit out of anyone who dared looked at him the wrong way, was staring up at them and Tony wasn’t sure what was about to happen but he knew Steve Rogers wouldn’t stand a chance against Barnes. Hell, neither would he, but he might be able to at least slow him down.

But Barnes was just staring up at them with large confused eyes, and Tony had a second urge to laugh because he seemed like a drowned cat who was confused as to why he got wet when he dived into water. He didn’t laugh of course because he wasn’t stupid, but the urge certainly grew when he watched Barnes geared up to turn around and walk away but Steve stopped that with a small “Hey Bucky.”

Barnes sighed and marched up to other side of Steve and sat down noisily. There was a tense awkward silence that crawled along Tony’s spine for a few moments before he looked over at Steve and Barnes. “Soooo, you’re friends huh?” He asked. Barnes opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and closed it with a huff as he looked over to Steve as if he was the only one that could answer that question. Steve was putting away his sketch pad in his pack as he shrugged.

“Yeah. I guess.” He said before looking over at Barnes and tilting his head to the side as if he wasn’t sure that was the right answer. Barnes nodded once before handing Steve a small tubberware bowl filled with pasta.

Tony raised an eyebrow pursing his lips together to stop from laughing. At least someone was feeding Steve.

Bucky bristled when he saw Tony’s expression as if he was getting ready for some kind of fight. Tony just tilted his head and he looked between Steve and Barnes, and this time he didn’t try to stop from smiling. Steve didn’t seem to notice whatever was happening between them because his attention was fully focused on shoving pasta into his mouth.

“This is really good.” Steve mumbled. It could have been in the direction of Barnes, but it could have also been just to himself. There was an expression on Barnes face that could be translated into amusement (very small amount) and Tony took that opportunity to stick his hand out and introduce himself. “Hi. Tony Stark.”

Barnes looked at the hand for a moment then back up at Tony and nodded- accepting the introduction but not willing to shake Tony’s hand. Tony wasn’t sure if this was a snub on him or just another weird quirk of Barnes’. He didn’t really care either way as he snatched his hand back. Steve seemed comfortable enough, so Barnes couldn’t really be all that bad.

Steve looked up suddenly, cheeks full of pasta, and he looked fast between Barnes and Tony. He swallowed his mouth full, and Tony was slightly worried he was going to choke. Steve just smiled them both. It was the kind of smile a child gave to his parents when they forgot to do something simple.

“Tony this is Bucky, Bucky this is Tony.” He introduce, his hands flying in front of his as he gestured from one person to the other.

Tony laughed, bumping his knee against Steve’s. “Yeah, buddy, I think we got that already. Thanks though.”

Steve smiled again and Tony had to force himself to not immediately smile back. Of course Steve was friends with the one kid everyone was terrified of. That was such a Steve thing to do.

They all three sat there for a few more moments with Steve and Barnes eating and Tony just breathing in the fresh air.

It wasn’t peaceful like before. Tony didn’t feel like he could just take a moment to breath. If anything he had an urge to fill the silence because Barnes still hadn’t said a word the whole time he was out here and Tony was beginning to feel his silence pressing down like a weight.

“Oooookay,” Tony said pushing his self up. “This has gotten a bit too awkward so I’m going to go ahead and head to class.” Tony turned to Barnes before he began his tread back. “Hey listen, I’m having a party this weekend and you can come if you want. Steve can give you the address. Just bring booze if you can.”

Barnes stared up at him, stone faced and silent. Tony rolled his eyes before swinging around and bouncing down each step as he called back “See you in class, Stevie!”

* * *

Bucky had not had a good day.

He had spent the whole night bearing his soul into a small notebook before falling asleep at his desk with his neck twisting at an uncomfortable angle. He slept through his alarm clock and only woke up when Rebecca had bound into his room, still tired and rubbing her eyes as she tried to craw her way into his lap.

Bucky had woken up with a start and scrambled backwards quickly. The warning bells sounding loudly in his head. Rebecca fell from his lap with a thump and Bucky fell backwards tripping over the chair that now lay sideways on the floor. Bucky's heart race even faster as he tried desperately to figure out where he was and what was going on as he gasped trying to get his air into his lungs.

Rebecca start crying from where she fell on the floor. A soft whine building into a near panicked scream as words bumbled out of her mouth is a cry of desperation. By time Bucky finally figured out what was going on and started to move to comfort her, his Ma and father had already burst into the room. His Ma quickly picked Rebecca up and carried her out of the room. Bucky desperately wanted to go with them but his vision blurred as he tried to stand, air still refusing to enter his lungs, and he quickly fell back over again.

His father picked up the chair that had fallen and kneeled down in front of Bucky. Hesitantly, he reached a shaking hand out as a form of comfort, but Bucky flinched back pressing his back against the wall. His father quickly took his hand back and instead just sat there next to him silently- a reassuring presence that Bucky wasn’t alone. Bucky stayed where he was, back against the wall, and tired to breath.

He desperately wanted to explain what happened, desperately wanted to go and hug Rebecca, wanted to tell his father it was okay. But he couldn’t do anything of that. Instead they both sat there not saying a word as Bucky listened to his Ma help Rebecca get ready for school. He heard her sniffle and a faint “But Mama, I don’t want to go school today.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes closed and pressed his face into the palm of his hand. This was his fault.

“James.” He heard his father call out. Bucky didn’t move as Rebecca’s words ran through his head over and over again. He heard his name called twice more before he finally opened his eyes. His father’s lips were pursed and his eyes were tight as he looked at him.

“James. You know everything is going to be okay, right? I know it doesn’t seem like it sometimes, especially on mornings like these, but it really is going to be okay.” His father told him.

Bucky nodded, not in acceptance or agreement, but because his father needed to hear it himself. It seemed to be a Mantra of his fathers, and though Bucky couldn’t speak the words himself, he can make it easier for his father.

Eventually, once his breathing was under control and his father’s presence became stifling, Bucky stood and walked to Rebecca’s room.

His Ma had given in and allowed Rebecca to stay home today and now she lay curled up in a small ball on her bed. Bucky tiptoed his way into her room before kneeling down and pushing the hair out of her face. She opened her eyes to stare up at him before flinging her arms open for a hug. He picked her up and hugged her as close as he could without hurting her. Leaning against the side of her bed he silently held her in his arms as she buried her face in his shoulder and cried.

His father was right. It was days like this that he found it hard to believe things were ever going to be “okay”.

An hour later Bucky tucked her into bed. She had finished crying early on and instead clung to Bucky as she sung a song she heard on one of her favorite shows. Bucky ran his fingers through her hair until eventually she began to doze off. Bucky slowly placed her in bed and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

He stumbled his way back to his own room to get ready for school. He might miss his first class, but he wasn’t going to let a morning mishap keep him from having a semi-normal life. He showered and got dressed quickly before heading downstairs. He father was nowhere to be seen but his Ma sat at the counter a cup of coffee cradled in her hands.

She watched him as he dug through the fridge for his lunch.

“Are you still bringing your friend food at lunch?” She asked. Bucky looked up and nodded as he shoved a few items into his backpack and closing the fridge door.

She smiled turning to cup over and over again in her hands. “What do you think you’re gonna make him next?”

Bucky looked at her for a moment before shrugging.

He Ma nodded at Bucky’s silence as if that was answer enough. “You should invite him over this Sunday. Been a long time since we had nice family dinner. Someone coming over would be a good excuse.”

Bucky stood there, resisting the urge to shuffle from foot to foot as he thought it over. He knew what his mom was trying to do. He knew that this wasn’t about food at all, but asking friends over was normal, right? And asking Steve over seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Bucky swung his backpack around this shoulders and sighed.

He nodded quick and sure. A smile spread across his Ma’s face as stood and walked over to Bucky.

“Good.” She said before waving her hands for him to start moving. “Now get going. You’re already late.”

And he was late. He missed his first class, and he had to slink into his seat as he interrupted his second. Everyone in class stared at him as if he was a secret to be sorted out. Bucky only glared back at the blatant ones. He didn’t bother taking notes, choosing instead to twirl his pen around in his hand and point at menacingly at anyone who refused to back down at this glare.

Bucky had not had a good morning, and so he spent the remainder of his morning looking forward to lunch with Steve, where he could sit in near isolation away from eyes that wanted to dissect him.

Imagine his surprise when instead he was met with Tony Stark sitting in his spot next to Steve. Both Tony and Steve had a lazy smile spread across their face and Steve’s dimples shone through his pink cheeks.

Why had Bucky never noticed his dimples before?

Bucky stopped at the bottom of the bleachers, not knowing whether he should turn around and go back inside or not. All Bucky wanted was a nice worry free lunch and instead he got what could potentially be the most awkward lunch of his life. Stark was staring at him now and only Steve’s soft “Hey Bucky” stopped him from turning around has fast as he could to go far far away.

Bucky took a deep breath, climbed his way up to Steve's side, and suffered through lunch with Tony trying to make awkward small talk. Tony stared at him like knew everything Bucky was thinking. Finally when Bucky seemed to annoy him too much, Tony stood up and announced loudly that he didn’t want to be there anyone.

Bucky resisted the urge to snort. Surprisingly, Stark didn't just stalk away, instead he turned towards Bucky, soft brown eyes glaring into him, and invited him to the party he was hosting this weekend.

Of course, Bucky was already invited. The whole school was invited as was per usual at a Stark party, but to have Tony Stark personally ask you to come was nearly unheard of. He made grand announcements, and fliers. He didn’t go from person to person to stare them in the eyes as he asked. So Bucky just sat there, confused and silent, wondering what he could possibly do in this situation.

Stark rolled his eyes, annoyed yet again and simply left with a call of “see you in class, Stevie” over his shoulder.

Bucky waited for Stark to enter the school before turning to Steve.

“Stevie?” He asked with a snort.

Steve looked up at him, cheeks filled with the pasta Bucky had given him earlier. He covered his mouth, chewing quickly before looked back up to Bucky with a lazy smile. There were those dimples again.

“Uh, yeah. It’s…well its Tony. I get a new nickname every day.”

Bucky felt a smile spread across his face for the first time that day and suddenly the weight in his chest lessened and he didn’t have to try so hard to breathe.

“You know, you don’t really seem like the party type.” He teased taking the empty tubberware out of Steve’s hand and placing it back in his backpack. Steve laughed and raised single eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? What kind of ‘type’ do I seem like?” he asked.

“Oh, you know, the type that comes over for a nice family dinner at a friend’s house.”

“Why can’t I be both?”

Bucky leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head, pretending to think it over. “Eh, okay, fine, you can go to Tony’s party on Friday night and then you can come to my house on Sunday for dinner.”

Steve continued to stare at Bucky for a moment, with his smirk still in place, before digging his phone out of his pocket.

“Alright.” He said throwing the phone into Bucky’s lap. “Put your number in there and I’ll text you the address to Tony’s party and you can text me your address back.”

Bucky laughed as he entered his information into Steve’s phone and handed it back. Satisfied Steve raised his phone up and called “smile” just the flash from Steve’s phone went off. Momentarily blinded Bucky blinked several times at Steve.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“Contact pic.” He said, holding the phone up to where Bucky could see it. There in all his glory sat Bucky’s face completely off center, one eye larger than the other and a double chin. All in all Bucky’s not sure he’s taken a less attractive picture in all his life and he’s including when he had braces and pimples.

“Delete that.” Bucky deadpanned starting at the picture in horror.

Steve merely smirked, holding his phone up to view the photo like a great prize. “No. No I don’t think I will.”

“Delete it or I will.” Bucky growled.

“No. It’s perfect.” Steve stuck his tongue out and cackled- CACKLED- when Bucky surged forward to try to take the phone back. Bucky ended up with his arms around Steve as he tried to pry the phone out of his hands and Steve pressed back against Bucky to try to push him farther from the phone.

“Come on, Steve, this isn’t fair.”

“Life’s not fair.”

Bucky laughed curling one of his arms around Steve to try to get a better reach. “Listen here you little Punk, give me the damn phone.”

"Never."


	8. Mornings

If there was one thing Bruce Banner hated, it was waking up on a park bench in freezing winter air.

It was just his luck that it happened more often than not and this morning was the same as the three before it: Bruce waking up to his breath mixing with the cold morning air, a layer of dew spread thin across this skin, and him shivering as he ran his hands up and down his arms trying to get rid of the goose bumps marring his skin.

He scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands and stood up to stretch. No one was in the park this early except a few early morning runners and most of them were use to seeing Bruce curled up on the bench so no one paid him any mind.

He coughed slightly clearing his throat and took a deep breath before turning around and walking the few feet to a piece of fence that ran along the side of the park. He put a foot on a large rock that had sat there since he was a kid, jumping up he grabbed the top before hoisting himself up and over. He landed feet first in a small yard that ran along the other side and crept through it to a small sun faded yellow house.

Ending up at a small windowhe pressed his hand against the cool glass and pushed up listening for a squeak that would give him away. He let out a breath when no squeak came and pushed himself into his bedroom landing softly. Looking around his room he pressed his lips together as he saw the strewn items that had been carelessly thrown to floor in drunken rage and sighed before sitting on the edge of the bed and placing his head in his hands. He squeezed his eyes closed and told himself that crying was useless and weak.

This was his life and if he was going to cry about it, he might as well roll over dead.

Instead he took a deep breath, stood up, and looked around one more time.

This was his fucking room. In his fucking home. (Supposedly his fucking home, because god forbid a house be an actual home.) This was his goddamn stuff that his good for nothing drunken shit faced father had decided needed to be ripped up, stomped on, and sprawled across his floor. Bruce snatched items off the floor: clothes, pillows, books, his laptop, and every item from his backpack- all of which was torn or broken in some fashion.

His laptop would be the hardest to replace. It had been given to him by Tony. Bruce wouldn’t be able to afford a new one. As for the stuff in his backpack, his English textbook was destroyed. At least he kept the rest of the stuff in his locker so he’ll only have to find a way to pay for one textbook. The homework he had just finished was gone too. It’s not like it mattered. Steve and Tony would help redo the stuff for physics, he was doing well enough in trigonometry for one grade not to completely fail him, and well he was already failing English anyway. What would one report matter?

Bruce crumpled up all the torn papers and threw them in the trash by his bedside. He set the broken items on his bed for to be looked at when he returned home from school. Maybe he could fix some of them. He took all the school work he could salvage along with the cleanest clothes he could find and shoved it into his backpack.

He’s not going to stick around this house any longer than what he had too. He had spent nearly all night sleeping outside and was in desperate need of a shower, so if he left now he might be able to make it school to use the showers that were in the gym. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Swinging the backpack over his shoulders he walked out of his room as quietly as he could and headed towards the kitchen to see if there was anything he could scrounge up.

“The hell you think you’re doing, boy?” A voice called out just as he got to the edge of the kitchen.

Bruce froze, every inch of his body preparing itself to run as fast as humanly possible. God damn it, Bruce thought. He knew he shouldn’t have pushed his luck. He fucking knew it. Bruce wondered what would make his father angrier: Answering him, or staying silent. Truth is it probably wouldn’t matter.

“I’m just leaving.” He ended up mumbling. The kitchen door was about three feet way. If his father made a move towards him, he might be able to get through the door before his father reached him.

“Yeah? Where you going?” His father slurred. Did he even stop drinking for a moment?

“School.”

His father let out a razor sharp laugh before he began stumbling his way into the kitchen. Bruce quickly side stepped to make room for him. It wouldn’t do any good to antagonize him farther. Just stay still, small and silent. That’s all he has to do.

“School is for people with a future, boy.” His father told him. “You ain’t got any kinda future.”

Bruce balled his hands into a fist by his side and clenched his jaw desperate not to say anything that would make his father angry. If he played his cards right he could get out of here with nothing more than a few harsh words directed his way. “You hear me?” His father asked. “You better damn well answer me when I speak to you.”

“Yes sir.” Bruce gritted out.

“You might as well turn back around and get that hopeful look outta your eyes. You ain’t gonna be nothing but a drunken bastard like your old man, so stop wastin’ everyone’s time.”

Bruce nodded, gritting out another yes sir as he turned around and head back to his room. It took everything he had in him to not throw a fist into the wall as he gently closed his bedroom door. Instead he quickly turned around and shoved himself out the window he first came in through. He made his way around the house and began his morning tread to school.

* * *

If there was one thing Natasha Romanoff found beautiful, it was the sunrise.

It was the only thing in Natasha’s life that had always remained constant, and always would remain constant. The sun will set each night and in the morning it will rise again. If Natasha is alive to sit wherever she may be and watch it, well then, that was the world’s gift to her and she was never one to squander gifts.

Every morning she woke up three minutes before her alarm clock went off, took a shower and got dressed for the day, checked Clint’s room to make sure everything was okay, then wiggled herself out of her window and onto the roof on the house to watch pinks fade into oranges and black fade away as the sun rose and lit the world. There was once upon a time when she didn’t have the luxury of sitting still to watch the sun rise and there was once upon a time when she didn’t know from one day to the next whether she would ever have that luxury again. Every morning, sitting on the rough roof, she promised herself she would never have such uncertainty plague her again.

That promised was echoed in her mind by something she thought she’d never have. It was echoed by the voice of someone she trusted making the same promise to her. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe a promise like that could be kept, but she did believe he would try to keep it no matter what and that was all she needed.

After she tired of watching the sunrise she climbed back through her window to make her bed then made her way back to Clint’s room. His alarm clock was blaring at top volume, the loud beeping piercing the house, but Clint still lay in bed with a soft snore completely unfazed by the obtrusive noise.

Natasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she grabbed the corners of Clint’s blanket jerking it off unto the floor. Clint’s snoring hitched before he snuggled closer to his pillow and resumed his snoring. Smirking she walked around to the other side.

“Cliiiint.” She called taking his hearing aids off the bedside table and placing them in his hands. Without thought Clint placed them in his ears before wiggling a bit to get comfortable and relaxing back into sleep. “Time to wake up.”

Clint mumbled what could have been a soft ‘no’ and buried his face into the pillow he had his arms wrapped around. Natasha’s smile widened as she climbed into bed with him. Clint began to stir a little bit more he moved towards her. “That’s right Tasha.” He mumbled. “It’s called sleep and it’s...” Clint’s voice trailed off into a jumbled mess as he fell back into unconsciousness.

Natasha maneuvered herself to where one foot, boot and all, was positioned on Clint’s stomach and then pushed as hard as she could. Clint went flying off one side of the bed and Natasha flew off the other side. Unlike Natasha, who landed on her feet, Clint went down with a large dull thump and a soft groan.

“Goddamn it Tasha. Do you have to do that every morning?” Clint asked.

Natasha danced over to the side of the bed to smirk down at Clint sprawled across the floor. “If you woke up when you were supposed to then I wouldn’t have too.”

“Well the joke is on you.” He told her. “I can sleep perfectly fine on the floor.” To prove his point he rolled over, curled around himself, and closed his eyes with the intent of never waking again. Natasha quickly jumped over him to grab one the discarded pillows from the bed and she began hitting him with it repeatedly.

“Think you can sleep through this?” She taunted. Clint sputtered and she twisted back around and tried to grab the pillow each time Natasha landed a blow, but her grip was a lot better than his and each time he managed to grab a hold of the pillow she quickly yanked it back out of his grasp.

“Okay, Okay.” He said, a low whine seeping into his voice. “I’m up. I’m up. You win.”

Natasha stopped in her attack to stare down and him, waiting for him to move. He sighed before picking himself off the floor with his hands raised in surrender before grabbing some clothes and making his way towards the shower. The smirk on Natasha’s face turned into a small smile as Clint walked out of her eye sight and she began walking the opposite way towards the kitchen.

There was a time when Clint woke at the smallest of sounds. He would wake as she tossed and turned in her sleep. He would wake as mice scuttled along the floor or when wind hit wherever they were staying just a tad too hard and long. He would never get more than a few hours of restless sleep a night as he ran away from whatever he was running from and she began to believe the dark circles under his eyes were permanent fixtures on his face. Now it took legitimate effort to get Clint out of bed each morning because he decided he was safe enough to lay there dead to the world and snoring up a storm and that was something she never thought she would be grateful for.

She walked into the kitchen and wasn’t surprised to see her and Clint’s adoptive father already mixing pancake batter for breakfast.

“Good Morning, Mr. Fury.” She greeted him as she did every morning. He looked up slightly surprised and smiled.

“Good morning, Natasha.” He greeted back. “Do you mind getting started on the bacon?” She nodded as she walked towards the cabinet to fish out a pan before getting the bacon out of the fridge.

Every morning for the last year her and Mr. Fury woke up before the rest of the house and made breakfast. At first it was so that Natasha could keep an eye on him and look out for when the other shoe would drop but slowly over time, as Natasha began to trust the man who looked her in the eyes and swore her that she would never have to run again, it became merely a morning routine. Something she could count on happening every morning just like the sunrise.

Natasha never thought she would have so many things to be grateful for in her life.

After the Bacon was finished cooking and the last of the eggs were sizzling in the bacon grease, Clint walked into the kitchen dripping water all over the floor like he hadn’t even bothered to use a towel after his shower. Humming some song he heard on the radio, Clint went to work gathering plates and silverware and setting the table.

Natasha caught Mr. Fury sneaking amused glances at Clint and shaking his head.

Mr. Fury’s wife Dr. Maria Hill, already fully dressed for work with her hair pulled back and tablet in her hand, went around the kitchen leaving a fond kiss on all of their heads before taking her place at the table.

After the table was fully set and everyone was digging into the food, Natasha looked up to see Clint sitting across the table and looking up at her with a small smile. His real one. The one she didn’t get to see until she had known him for close to two years. If there was one thing she would give up the sunrise for, it was Clint’s smile.

* * *

Steve Rogers was not a fan of mornings.

They started the same every morning, with Steve staring up at his ceiling in the dark with paint smeared across his cheeks and his eyes burning with too little sleep. He knew that if he turned to glance at the glaring lights on his alarm clock they would read a full hour before it was set to off and he knew that even if he squeezed his eyes shut he wouldn’t be getting anymore sleep. At least he had finished up the his latest commission last night, just barely making his deadline, and he could breathe easier knowing that he wouldn’t have to work himself to death to make rent next month.

Rubbing the palm of his hands against his eyes he turned slowly and pushed himself out of his bed. His muscles ached, he could almost hear his knees creak, and his chest felt like cinder blocks had been placed on top of him. All in all his body was screaming at him to curl back under the sheets and sleep for seventy years. But Steve knew even if he did close his eyes and mange to drift off, he’d wake again soon and in no better shape. Instead he lightly stumbled through the dark to reach his computer in the corner and turn and it on.

There was no sense in wasting time not sleeping when he could be working to get some extra cash. He never knew what would come up and he the thought of him being caught off guard again made his stomach ache and the need to throw up build at the bottom of his throat. No, it was better if he just kept working like normal.

When his computer finished booting up he brought up his personal web page for his art and with skilled fingers changed the phrase on the corner of the page from ‘Commissions Closed’ to ‘Now accepting commissions’ leaving his email address and a link to contact him with. Not knowing what else to do after that he gathered up some clean clothes and took a quick shower.

After his shower, he fixed himself a small bowl of cereal and stared at the granite counter tops as he ate. They were the newest thing in the house.

His mom loved to bake when she had a chance. Mainly she baked when she would get home from a long day of working at the hospital and still had the energy to not immediately fall into bed which were rare days. But when she did bake she would go out shopping for everything they needed and spread them out of their old counters like they were presents underneath the Christmas tree. Steve would come home to see his mother smiling large and a bag of flour cradled in her arms like a baby.

“Stevie.” She said the moment she caught sight of him. “Let’s bake.”

With a wiggle of her eyebrows she tossed the bag of flour to him and he laughed easily tumbling back from the weight.

“Can’t I at least finish my homework first?” He asked sitting his backpack down and placing the bag of flour on the counter.

“Homework can wait.” She waved off searching in the cabinet for a spice she forgot to place on the counter.

“Of course. Of course.” Steve laughed sliding next to his mom to pluck his own spices from the cabinet. “What are a few grades on some paper when I can spend quality time with my mother?”

“And don’t you forget it!” She smiled flicking him on the nose. “You and I both know that your homework wouldn’t get done anyway. You’d walk right into your room and see some unfinished art project lying around and you’ll get sudden inspiration and forget all about your homework until five minutes before class when you try to finish it against the door to your locker.”

Steve squinted up at her with pursed lips that were threatening to break into a smile. “I’d believe you were some kind of psychic if you didn’t get one very important fact wrong.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d finish it at least six minutes before class.”

Steve found himself smiling at the memory of his Mom’s laughter. Later she had begged him to pipe icing onto the cooling cookies knowing Steve wouldn’t resist on drawing pictures on them. She called each one a masterpiece that would sell for millions if she didn’t plan to eat each one that night.

“You know what would make this cookie an even better masterpiece?” She asked him that night. Steve shook his head no- his mouth full of a cookie that his hand had slipped on while drawing. “If you had a better work space. Aren’t you tired of scrubbing at the cracks and dents in the counter after we bake. Don’t you wish we could bake on something that you could just swipe your hand across and it’d be clean?” She leaned against the counter with an aged dishrag in her hands and eyes staring into nothing.

“I don’t think that’s how cleaning works.” Steve snorted. “But I’m pretty sure that’s everyone’s dream.”

“Then let’s do it.” She smiled wide before moving behind Steve to give him a tight hug. Six months later with every penny saved and a friend who promised them a good deal, Steve and his mom set to work installing their new granite counter tops themselves. When they were finished Steve stood in the doorway watching his mom run her fingers over the counters. They were sorely out of place in the small apartment.

“So what do you think Stevie?” She asked.

“We could open our own bakery.” He said smirking.

She laughed and nodded back with the far off look in her eyes again. “Yeah. We could, couldn’t we?”

Less than a year later she was gone and Steve was left alone to look at the countertops at five in the morning feeling sorry for himself as his cereal got soggy.

Steve sighed getting up to rinse his bowl out and to get out a sketch pad. He might as well get started on his next project. Standing in the middle of his room after getting his sketch pad and colored pencils he hesitated for just a moment before grabbing his phone.

Settling down once again at the kitchen counter he sent out a single text before getting to work.

* * *

Tony woke with a start.

His eyes flew open only to squeeze closed nearly as fast in the blinding lights of his workshop.

“Stopit.” He mumbled to his bot who was currently running into his leg over and over again. The bot whined low but backed off a few feet.

Tony reached for his phone, squinting as he checked for notifications.

Nothing.

Sighing he dropped the phone before burying his head in his arms and ignoring the crack that rang through the room as the phone bounced off the floor. --

* * *

A low buzz sounded beside Bucky’s pillow and his hand jerked up to turn it off before his brain caught up with the rest of him. Groaning low he pulled his phone to his chest before rolling over to try to smother it so it didn’t make another sound.

Not nearly long enough after he faded back to sleep the shrill sound of his alarm sounded jerking him right back out of sleep. After several moments filled with groans and his parents knocking on the door, Bucky finally pulled himself free from bed only to notice his phone was clutched tightly in his hand.

Sighing he swiped his thumb across the screen to find a message waiting.

Seeing it was from Steve he read it, then reread it, and read it again.

_'Good morning. : )_

_W_ _alk_ _to school_ _with me?'_

Bucky yawned and blinked a few times to try to clear his vision before taking a look at the message one more time. A smile crawled across his face as he typed up a reply.

_'_ _Sure thing, punk_ _.'_

* * *

“Hello?”

Bruce jumped as the voice sounded throughout the gym showers. Who the fuck could possibly here so early in the morning? Bruce specifically came at this time so he didn’t have to run into anyone! He turned grasping for his towel as soap ran down his face into his eyes. He rubbed the soap off then wrapped the towel around his torso not caring that the shampoo hadn’t been rinsed entirely out of his hair and was running down his back. He just had to- He had to get out of here.

But the voice was coming from the only entrance he knew of and he didn’t have nearly enough time to get to an air duct. Not that he would do that of course- he wasn’t a coward- but facts remained he didn’t have time to turn off the water let alone find another exit. Sure enough just as he reached to shut off the water in walked the owner of the voice.

“Ah. Hello.” He said.

Bruce turned to see Thor standing right at the exit. His shirt off and sweat running down muscles that could only be achieved artificially. He pulled his long hair out of his haphazard pony tail and began unbuttoning his pants shimming them down his hips completely uncaring that Bruce was standing right in front of him.

“It’s unusual that I get company when I take my shower after my morning workout.” Thor stated throwing his pants off onto a bench.

Bruce shuffled from foot to foot wondering if he should just leave or try to come up with come excuse. What exactly were the protocols in these situations? Before he could make a move though, Thor smiled and gestured towards the still running shower inviting Bruce to go back under the spray as he walked to his own shower head and turned on the water.

“I think it will be a nice change to have company.” Thor said still smiling. “You’re Bruce, right?” Bruce nodded removing his towel and walking back under the spray of the water wondering why in the world Thor knew his name.

He didn’t know Thor-personally at least- but Thor had a reputation. An ‘everyone in the school knew and loved him so he was the center of attention’ kind of reputation. He walked the halls with a smile plastered across his face and a friendly hello to anyone who greeted him. Bruce wasn’t one of those kids.

He was the kind of kid that flattened himself up against the wall trying to blend in anytime Thor walked by. Bruce didn’t want to be noticed. The kind of attention you can get from someone like Thor couldn’t be good for a guy like him. But they were alone and though Bruce knew it was a stupid thought, he didn’t think Thor would try anything against him. He didn’t seem like the kind of person to cause someone pain just because he could. So he stammered out a small yes when he noticed Thor had taken out his hair tie and had his head leaned back so he wouldn’t be able see Bruce’s nod.

“Yeah. I see you around school – hand me the soap, would you?- You hang around with Stark and Bitty Steve.” Thor said.

“Um. Sometimes.” Bruce handed Thor the soap trying not to get shampoo in his eyes again. “But I don’t think Steve likes being called that.”

Thor looked over at Bruce for a few moments before nodding two distinct nods. “Then I shall stop.”

After that they both fell silent as they finished their showers. Bruce finished quickly, only having to finish rinsing off, and turned off the water reaching for his already soaked towel. At least he’d be able to get a new one on his way out. Unlike at home there always seemed to be fresh towels here. It was a little bit like heaven.

“So, Bruce.” Bruce turned to see Thor turning off his own water and drying off his hair with his towel. “May I ask who did that to you?” Thor asked.

“What?”

“That, my friend.” Thor said pointing a finger at his face. Bruce brought his own hand up to touch his cheek already knowing without a mirror that it would be swollen and starting to bruise. God damn it. Why can’t his father act like every other abusive parent and at least try to hide the marks.

“It’s nothing. Just tripped. I can be clumsy sometimes.” Bruce smiled as though he was amused at himself as he starting moving towards the door, and Bruce damn well knew it was a convincing smile because it was the same one he used on every other person who started asking questions and they always smiled back as if it amused them too, but Thor didn’t sound amused as he started talking before Bruce could even take a step.

“And went head first into a cinder block?” he asked.

“Thor-”

“I’m here every morning, you know. Best gym in town and it’s free. I’ve never seen you in the gym, and I know you are not in any sports, but I see you using these showers at least once a week and each time with some new injury. I assume from all the tripping you’ve been doing in your free time.”

“I get it okay. I get it. I won’t come back.” Bruce interrupted. His heart was pounding in his chest and his lungs felt so tight he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get another word out. “I get it.”

Thor shook his head water dripping from small stranding glued to the side of his face. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what the hell is it that you’re saying because I’m sick and tired of playing this fucking game.” Bruce growled. This was enough. It was fucking enough. Too many people thought they could just play with his head as if it was nothing. And Bruce didn’t care what it took but it ended. It ended now.

“I’m saying I’m the only one that uses this gym in the morning and it can get a little lonely. I wouldn’t mind company every now and then.”

Bruce turned walked straight out with his hands clenched to his side and a “fuck you” thrown over his shoulder. --

* * *

Bucky walked out of his house and stumbled down the few steps from his porch to the sidewalk when he spotted Steve standing underneath the small tree that stood in front of his home.

There Steve stood looking out towards the sunrise that glowed through his blonde hair creating a small halo around him and making the shadows play across his face highlighting his his pouty lips- that quite frankly Bucky was fucking floored he's never notice before- and the deep purple paint the was stripped across his cheek like war paint that only made his blue eyes stand out even more as Steve turned to Bucky and smiled. Although Bucky had never wanted to learn traditional art, suddenly he hated himself for never learning because he knew art when he saw it and Steve was pretty much its definition.

Bucky could sell him to a museum, ill fitting plaid shirt and all, and people would pile in just to catch a glimpse- And holy shit. Where the fuck did that come from? Wow. He obviously hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night because those were the weirdest thoughts he had ever had. He’s just gonna stop now. Yup…

“Hey Buck.” Steve greeted with a small wave as he began walking. Bucky said a small greeting back as he followed closely behind very carefully not to letting his mind wonder into weird territory again. He already had enough weird letters to Steve in his desk drawer. He didn’t need any more.

“So do you just eat, sleep, and breathe art?” Bucky asked pointing to the paint smeared across Steve’s cheek.

“What?” Steve asked reaching his own hand up to rub at his cheek. “Is there still paint there? I thought I had gotten that off.”

“Nope. Still there.”

Steve sighed placing his hands back in his pockets. “Never work with oil. Biggest pain in the ass to clean.”

“I can see that.” Bucky laughed. “So were you trying to turn yourself into a walking art project or what?”

“Nah. I was just finishing up a commission this morning. Sometimes it just doesn’t feel like art unless you get a little messy you know?”

Bucky didn’t know, but he certainly had an idea. “Commission? You mean like some rich asshole thinks there should be a portrait of him displayed above his fireplace for all to see so he hires you?” he asked.

Steve laughed rubbing as his cheek once more before placing his hand back in his pocket. “Sure sure. But mainly I get requests from restaurants or clubs.”

“Clubs? Like girl scouts?”

“Eh. More like Waves.”

Bucky stopped walking to stare at Steve for just a moment because he couldn’t mean- “Waves? You mean the club so exclusive that the Starks are barely even rich enough to enter?”

Steve just nodded gesturing for Bucky to continue walking.

“But the Starks are like the richest people in the country.” Bucky said. “You’re telling me you have art work in that club and they asked you to do it?”

“Yeah, I guess. I thought it was a joke when they contacted me but it turns out it wasn’t. I was a really fun piece to do too.” Steve sighed. “Kind sad to see that one go actually.”

“Wait wait. Does that mean you can get into the club?” Bucky asked.

Steve’s eyebrows drew together as he turned to Bucky who was just now falling into to stride with him. “No? Why would I be able to do that?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky said. “As a thank you for all your hard work?”

“Trust me. The check they sent me was more than enough thank you. I actually had to send some of it back since they sent more than the agreed upon price.” Steve shrugged.

“You- What?” Bucky laughed swinging his arm over Steve’s shoulders. “Well that settles it.”

“What?”

“That settles it. I’ve got to see this art piece so we’re gonna find a way into this club.”

* * *

Natasha leaned back in her chair only half listening to a lecture that was given every year on Shakespeare. Instead she was staring at the person slumped over in the seat next to her- Bruce Banner.

Half his face was covered in a large bruise she didn’t have to guess how he got and she knew no teacher would ask. Only a pencil sat on the table, and his backpack on the floor next to him was missing one of the straps. He was pointedly not looking at her despite the fact that he must feel her eyes on him.

Instead he stared at the desk below him. He hadn’t once looked up to meet anyone’s gaze the entire time he had been in class. In a small way he reminded her of Clint when she first met him. In another way, a way she was less likely to admit, she knew he wore the same face she did every time she looked in a mirror when she was on the run. She gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to break something.

Scum would always scurry along like rats on this earth and the kids would be the ones to suffer. One or two saved did not make a difference in the long run. Fury said all they could do was save the ones they could and take down as many rotten pieces of shit as possible along the way, but it didn’t matter how many they took down as long as there were people who suffered merely inches away from her. Not when she had no idea how to help.

Natasha slide over her textbook and placed it gently on Bruce’s desk when she noticed he was the only one not turning to the page number directed on the board. Maneuvering the extra textbook from the self next to her to her own desk she didn’t dare look over at Bruce.

She knew anger would be the only thing she could see in his eyes.

Or worse yet- Confusion. --

* * *

History was not one of Steve’s preferred subjects. It seemed as though history was a stale story that never changed no matter who it was that told the story and the monotone uninterested voice of Mr. Howlett did not make it any better.

The vibration of his phone against his thigh was the only thing that stopped Steve from drifting off to sleep as date after date flew through his head with no real connection. Careful not to gain anyone's attention he shimmed his phone out of his pocket to see a text from Bucky.

_'So how well can you do a French accent?'_

Steve’s eyebrows drew together before he typed in his own reply. _'Not so well. Why?'_

It didn’t take long before his phone vibrated again.

_'Just planning how we’re gonna sneak into Waves. It’d be easier if you knew French.'_

Steve looked up to see Mr. Howlett going on about the importance of strategy in the American Revolution and not paying much attention to anyone but the kid in front who was stupid enough to start snoring.

 _'Sorry?'_ Steve quickly typed.

_'It’s okay. I got it._ _New plan. Y_ _ou’re gonna dress like a superhero.'_

Steve eyebrows came together as he tried to imagine exactly what Bucky was thinking.

 _'What? Like a comic book?'_ Steve asked.

 _'No like real life, dork._ _Srsly tho, w_ _e’ll say there’s a supervillain inside and you’re the only one that can stop him.'_ Came Bucky’s reply. As if there was really any other choice.

 _'Sounds foolproof.'_ Steve typed in still watching Mr. Howlett as he talked in depth about the element of surprise in any battle and slowly walking to the poor kid’s desk that didn’t have the willpower to stay awake.

_'Perfect. And I’ll be your sidekick so I don’t miss out on the fun.'_

_'Can you do a French accent? This will only work if you have a French accent.'_ Steve replied smiling to himself.

_'Haha. Funny.'_

_'I know.'_ Steve typed just as Mr. Howlett's hand came crashing down on the sleeping kid’s desk. The desk itself cracked under the force and the kid who was sleeping moments before sprang up eyes wide and with a cry of “Oh god no.”

_'Gotta go. Prof. X might be on to us. See you at lunch. ;)'_

Before Steve could reply Mr. Howlett turned to him with a horrifying promise in his eyes. “Don’t think I don’t see you texting, Rogers.”

Steve quickly pocketed his phone to give his entire attention to class without a single word. Satisfied Mr. Howlett walked back over to his desk, propped his feet up and continued on about which battles and dates.

A few seconds later Steve was lost in his own mind again as he sketched out what him and Bucky would look like as superheroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call this monstrosity of a chapter "The Montage" 
> 
> This chapter also marks a very significant turning point and I'm so excited for you guys to read the rest!! 
> 
> Please please please I am begging if you like the story and wanna see more (Or even just have questions!), leave a comment! <3 There truly is no greater gift.


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